What’s your name, then? ”Tessa looked at him in disbelief. “What’s my name?” “Don’t you know it?

This time Clary concentrated, trying to focus her mind on Simon-The Simon-ness of him, the shape of the way he thought, the feeling of hearing his voice, the sence of him close. His whispers, his secrets, the way he made her laugh. 'So', she thought conversationally, 'now that I'm in your mind, wnat to see some naked mental pictures of Jace?' Simon jumped. "I heard that! And, no.

Will only looked at her. There had been light in his eyes on the stairs, as he'd locked the door, when he'd kissed her--a brilliant, joyous light. And it was going now, fading like the last breath of someone dying. She thought of Nate, bleeding to death in her arms. She had been powerless then, to help him. As she was now. She felt as if she were watching the life bleed out of Will Herondale, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

There are some kinds of wounds you can get, internal injuries. You don't know what's wrong with you, but you're bleeding to death slowly inside.

To be beautiful you had to be willowy and tall. When you were as short as Clary was, just over five feet, you were cute. Not pretty or beautiful, but cute.

Brown is a manly color

There was something about Jace, though, that made her want to push him, crack that shell of cynicism and make him admit her believed something, felt something, cared about anythinng at all.