I want to be an angst-ridden teenager who can’t confront his own inner demons and takes it out verbally on other people instead. -Jace Wayland.
The kitchen was bright, cheerful yellow, the walls decorated with framed chalk and pencil sketches Simon and Rebecca had done in grade school. Rebecca had some drawing talent, you could tell, but Simon’s sketches of people all looked like parking meters with tufts of hair.
And she tricked us into taking walkie-talkie rings she could listen in on,” Simon said. “I wouldn’t trust her further than I could throw a medium-sized elephant.
She had no recollection, later, of having decided what to do next, or of having hunted for something to wear, but somehow she was hurrying down the stairs, dressed in shadowhunter gear, the letter in one hand and the chain with the ring clasped hastily around her throat.
They said it was better to know your enemy, but how did it help to know that your enemy’s one weakness was your weakness too.
I was laughing at you because declarations of love amuse me, especially when unrequited.
Shadowhunters don’t say good-bye, not before a battle. Or good luck. You must behave as if return is certain, not a matter of chance.
You have to know I wouldn’t wish for a different life,” she said. “This life brought me you.
If you can’t tell the truth to the people you care about the most, eventually you stop being able to tell the truth to yourself.
She smiled smugly. “We came to an agreement, the duck and I.
Alec is not a bunny rabbit. He’s a shadowhunter.
Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.” “If I cannot move Heaven, I will raise Hell.
There’s always the dinner rolls,” said Will, pointing to a covered basket. “Though I warn you, they’re as hard as stones. You could use them to kill black beetles, if any beetles bother you in the middle of the night.
Will interrupted. “Henry,” he said, “you’re on fire. You do know that, don’t you?
Everyone gets the time they get together, and no more.
Ladies’ hearts are like china on a mantelpiece. There are so many of them, and it is so easy to break them without noticing.
Every time I annoy him, he retreats into his No Mundanes Allowed treehouse.
The man glanced down and made a face. “I see that many pigeons have pooped upon these stairs,” he remarked. “I shall remain standing, if that’s not too rude.
My head feels round,” Simon said sadly. “So round.
Maybe they didn’t make vampires out of ugly people. Or maybe ugly people just didn’t want to live forever.