[Will Herondale] would say he knew a warlock who was a better friend, and more worth trusting, than many a nephilim warrior.

Her eyes met his, but she looked quickly away; entangling gazes with Will was confusing at best, dizzying at worst.

He lifted the violin to his shoulder then, and raised the bow. And he played.

Lord, you're Irish," said Will. "Can you make things that don't have potatoes in them? We had an Irish cook once when I was a boy. Potato pie, potato custard, potatoes with potato sauce.

Say something in Mandarin,” said Tessa, with a smile. Jem said something that sounded like a lot of breathy vowels and consonants run together, his voice rising and falling melodically: “Ni hen piao liang.” “What did you say?” Tessa was curious. “I said your hair is coming undone — here,” he said, and reached out and tucked an escaping curl back behind her ear. Tessa felt the blood spill hot up into her face, and was glad for the dimness of the carriage. “You have to be careful with it,” he said, taking his hand back, slowly, his fingers lingering against her cheek.

You could know a man not by what his friends said about him, but by how he treated his servants.

Clary's mother apparently reguarded him as about as sexually threatening as a goldfish.