What are you doing following me around the back streets of London, you little idiot?” Will demanded, giving her arm a light shake. Cecily’s eyes narrowed. “This morning it was cariad (note: Welsh endearment, like ‘darling’ or ‘love’), now it’s idiot.

Nothing less than 7 inches.

You cannot buy or drug or dream your way out of pain.

The angel brought you back." "Because you asked him to. You could have anything alse in the world, and you asked for me." "But I dont want anything else in the world. I love you. I would do it again. I would ask for you.

Write what you want to read. So many people think they need to write a particular kind of book, or imitate a successful style, in order to be published. I've known people who felt they had to model their book on existing blockbusters, or write in a genre that's supposed to be "hot right now" in order to get agents and publishers interested. But if you're writing in a genre you don't like, or modeling yourself on a book you don't respect, it'll show through. You're your first, most important reader, so write the book that reader really wants to read.

One of the heavy marble busts that lined the higher shelves had slid free and was falling toward her; she ducked out of its way, and it hit the floor inches from where she'd been standing, leaving a sizable dent in the floor. A second later Jace's arms were around her and he was lifting her off her feet. She was too surprized to struggle as he carried her over to the broken window and dumped her unceremoniously out of it.

Will loved to gallop.