Now before we do any digging around in that blond head of yours to find out the truth, I suggest you cool your temper. And I know just where you can do that best.” Jace blinked. “Are you sending me to my room?

I am sorry," Will said. "No," Jem said... "Don't be ordinary like that. Don't say you're sorry.

Every heart has its own melody.

Are you threatening to kidnap me?" "If you want to look at it that way," Jace said, "yes.

He found himself wanting to write poetry about how her blue eyes were like starlight and her hair like night, because "night" and "starlight" rhymed, but he had a feeling the poem wouldn't turn out that well.

She felt as if she bled her regret and loneliness from her very pores, and yet she could not shape those feelings into any sentiment she could imagine her parents could bear reading.

I am, in the end, what you made me.