Not giving him booze, are you? He’s a little young for it.
Thanatos, Arthur would have called it. The heart’s desire for death.
He was walking through the desert, over burning sands, past bones whitening in the sun. He had never been so thirsty. When he swallowed, his mouth felt as if it were coated with sand, his throat lined with knives.
You can’t have two fathers.” “Sure you can,” Simon said. “Who says you can’t? We can buy you one of those books they have for little kids. Timmy Has Two Dads. Except I don’t think they have one called Timmy Has Two Dads and One of Them Was Evil.
John Carstairs smiled sadly. “As long as there is love and memory, there is no true death.
Roderick Morgenstern, who Magnus thought truly deserved to have a name that sounded like a goat chewing gravel, stood up happily to continue his speech.
Simon, is your diva moment over? I need to talk to Jace.
A iubi inseamna a distruge, iar a fi iubit inseamna a fi distrus.
Nephilim were guarded, Nephilim were arrogant, Nephilim were to be avoided. Even the Shadowhunters Magnus had met and liked had been, every one, a trouble sundae with dark secret cherries on top.
This is bad,” said Jace. “You said that before.” “It seemed worth repeating.” “Well, it wasn’t.
We’re all of us alone,” he said. “In the end.
Warlocks were always born from that, from pain and demons.
It is something to remember, if we feel distant from humans,” Catarina said. “We owe a great deal to human love. We live forever by the grace of human love, which rocked strange children in their cradles and did not despair and did not turn away. I know which side of my heritage my soul comes from.
How could three people who cared for one another so much cause one another so much pain?
The things we’re most frightened of, we can’t make ourselves dismiss them.
My father says an experience like that can leave scars. It’s a kind of sacrifice that heroes make, taking those scars so others don’t have to.
She was a Shadowhunter. She would take the blow. She would harden herself and laugh in the face of pain.
It was books that taught me that perhaps I was not alone.
Edmund jumped and somersaulted in midair, vaulting neatly onto the roof of the carriage. As he did so, he drew weapons from the concealing folds of his garments: the two whips he had spoken of before, arcs of sizzling light against the night sky. He wielded them with cutting precision, their light waking golden fire in his tousled hair and casting a glow on his carved features, and by that light Magnus saw his face changed from a laughing boy’s to the stern countenance of an an angel.
But we suffer for love because love is worth it.