He wanted to make her laugh. He wanted to sit and listen to her talk about books until his ears fell off. But all these were things he could not want, because they were things he could not have, and wanting what you could not have led to misery and madness.

Change is no loss, Will. Not always.

Simon remembered a rhyme his mother used to recite to him, about magpies. You were supposed to count them and say: one for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a wedding, four for a birth, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret that's never been told. "Right," simon said. He had already lost count of the numbers of birds there were. Seven, he guessed. A secret that's never been told. Whatever that was.

He's not a liar at all. Not about important things. He'll tell you horrible truths, but he won't lie." She paused before she added quietly: "That's why it's generally better not ask him anything unless you know you can stand to hear the answer.

The only alternative seems to be doing nothing…and doing nothing, I find, rarely accomplishes anything

I didn't get this dressed up to watch you mess around in the gutter with a bunch of motorcycles." "They are pretty to look at," said Jace. "You have to admit that." "So am I," said Isabelle.

He tried to learn seductive phrases in all languages, but the only Swedish he had ever really needed was, "Do you serve anything aside from pickled fish?" and "If you wrap me in furs, I can pretend to be your little fuzzy bear.