And now I’m looking at you,” he said, “and you’re asking me if I still want you, as if I could stop loving you. As if I would want to give up the thing that makes me stronger than anything else ever has. I never dared give much of myself to anyone before – bits of myself to the Lightwoods, to Isabelle and Alec, but it took years to do it – but, Clary, since the first time I saw you, I have belonged to you completely. I still do. If you want me.

I'll take Shadowhunter, then. Because from what I've experienced of vampires, you mostly suck. No pun intended.

You're my brother." "Those words don't mean anything where we're concerned. We aren't human. Their rules don't apply to us. Stupid laws about what DNA can be mixed with what. Hypocritical, really, considering. We're already experiments.

In the end it was Shadowhunting they had bonded over—a shared love of sharp-edged weapons, gleaming seraph blades, the painful pleasure of burning Marks, the thought-numbing swiftness of battle. When Alec had wanted to go out hunting alone with Jace, leaving Izzy behind, Jace had spoken up for her: “We need her with us; she’s the best there is. Aside from me, of course.” She had loved him just for that.

I believe that authors don't have a responsibility to include "messages" in their work, but they do have a responsibility to write a world that seems true and real, never more than when expecting readers to believe in magic and angels and fairies.

Excuse me, Bane?" said Roderick Morgenstern. "Are you attending?" "I'm so sorry," Magnus said politely. "Somebody incredibly attractive just came into the room, and I ceased to pay attention to a word you were saying.

I always wanted to be a writer since I was around 12 years old and I wrote my first book.