Mundies die awfully easily, don't they?" "Isabelle, you know it's bad luck to talk about death in a sickroom.

Will tossed his apple core into the air, at the same time drawing a knife from his belt and throwing it. The knife and the apple scaled across the room together, somehow managing to stick into the wall just beside Gabriel's head, the knife driven cleanly through the core and into the wood. "Say that again," said Will. "And i'll darken your daylights for you.

You'd better hurry up to the Gard and back. God knows what depravity we might get up to here without your guidance.

Were you ever actually going to leave New York, or were you just saying that to get her to finally make a move?” “Clary,” said Luke, “I am shocked that you would suggest such a thing.

By the Angel, this place is barely better than a penny gaff,” Gideon said. “Gabriel, don’t look at anything unless I tell you it’s all right.

Dear A & M, I talked to the manager of the Beauty Bar because I definitely saw you guys getting married against a hot pink backdrop, but he doesn't think we can fit more than fifty people inside and I'm thinking three hundred. How would you feel about getting married in the park? It might get cold, but you could ride a horse-drawn carriage to the ceremony. How do you feel about matching wedding crowns? -Isabelle

Sarcasm is the last refuge of the imaginatively bankrupt.