Far below ran the silver ribbon of the East River, braceleted by shining bridges, flecked by boats as small as flyspecks, splitting the shining banks of light that were Manhattan and Brooklyn on either side.

Tea. I find that both settles the stomach and concentrates the mind. Wonderful drink, tea.

Whoever loves you now—and you must also love yourself—will love the truth of you.

Well, you know, your mom gets like this sometimes," Simon said. "Like when she breathes in or out.

You kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire. He had wondered once why love was always phrased in terms of burning. The conflagration in his own veins, now, gave the answer.

It was like I saw your soul in the notes of the music. And it was beautiful.

Don't panic, but we've got an audience." Clary turned her head. Perched on a nearby tree branch was Hugo, watching them beadily from bright black eyes. So the sound she'd heard had been wings rather than demented passion. That was disappointing.