The young man who appeared at the mouth of the alley was pale in the lamplight—paler even than he usually was, which was quite pale indeed.

Clary," he whispered. There was a thump, and she realized he had fallen to his kees by the side of her bed. She didn't move, but her body tightened. His voice was a whisper. "Clary, it's me. It's me.

No, I'm just a very naughty boy. I do all sorts of bad things. I kick kittens. I make rude gestures at nuns.

I always thought love made you stupid. Made you weak. A bad Shadowhunter. 'To love is to destroy.'I believed that[...]I used to think being a good warrior meant not caring,[...] And then I met you. You were a mundane. Weak. Not a fighter. Never trained[...] Love didn't make you weak, it made you stronger than anyone I'd ever met. And I realized I was the one who was weak.

You're gorgeous," she said. Her hands slid around to flatten themselves against his chest. "You know that right?" "And I just don't care," she says "Isabelle, I don't think-Wait, What?

Every time you almost die, I almost die myself.

So you really cant think of anyone else who might want to kill you?"asked Jace. "Unlike in your case there arent actually all that many people who dislike me."said Simon.