No matter what the price offered, no Downworlder would fail to listen to a warning against one of the nephilim.

This was Jace being brave. Simon thought, brave and snarky because he thought Lilith was going to kill him, and that was the way he wanted to go, unafraid and on his feet. Like a warrior. The way Shadowhunters did. His death song would always be this-jokes and snideness and pretend arrogance, and that look in his eyes that said 'I'm better than you'. Simon just hadn't realized it before.

Gold to airy thinness beat.

You endure what is unbearable, and you bear it. That is all.

If you were half as funny as you think you are, you'd be twice as funny as you are now.

Jace perched on the windowsill and looked down at him. "You really don't get this bodyguard thing, do you?" "I didn't even think you liked me all that much," said Simon. "Is this one of those keep-your-friends-close-and-your-enemies-closer things?" "I thought it was keep your friends close so you have someone to drive the car when you sneak over to your enemy's house a night and throw up in his mailbox." "I'm pretty sure that's not it

"A date," Jace repeated. "Often a 'boring thing you have to memorize in history class," but in this case,' 'an offer of a n evening of blisteringly white-hot romance with yours truly.'"