Lips. There was something strangely, delicately indelicate about the word, like a kiss itself.

I don’t want to be Nephilim,” said Jace. “I want to be something else. Stronger, faster, better than human. But different. Not subservient to the Laws of an angel who couldn’t care less about us. Free.” He ran his hand through a curl of her hair. “I’m happy now, Clary. Doesn’t that make a difference?

Will speechless for once, a glass of water frozen halfway to his lips

Children of the Nephilim," Magnus said. "Well, well. I don't recall inviting you." Isabelle took out her invitation and waved it like a white flag. "I have an invitation. These"--she indicated the rest of the group with a grand wave of her arm--"are my friends." Magnus plucked the invitation out of her hand and looked at it with fastidious distaste. "I must have been drunk," he said. He threw the door open. "Come in. And try not to murder any of my guests." Jace looked at him, "Even if one of them spills something on my new shoes?" "Even then." - 219

I always thought that eventually there would be a moment where I realized that I had practiced enough and now I was ready to be a professional writer. Then I befriended a number of successful professional writers and realized that none of them ever felt ready. After that I decided I might as well stop waiting to feel ready and just get started.

So, technically," Simon said, "even though Jace isn't actually related to you, you have kissed your brother.

He'd felt like a jack-o-lantern for the past few days, as if his guts had been yanked out with a fork and dumped in a heap while a grinning smile stayed plastered on his face.