You are the central point about which his world spins.

You can tell me to stop any time you want, but you won't.

You could say anything you wanted to someone you thought you were never going to see again.

It's so dark," she said lamely. "You want me to hold your hand?" Clary put both her hands behind her back like a small child. "Don't talk down to me." "Well, I could hardly talk up to you. You're too short.

The kitchen was bright, cheerful yellow, the walls decorated with framed chalk and pencil sketches Simon and Rebecca had done in grade school. Rebecca had some drawing talent, you could tell, but Simon's sketches of people all looked like parking meters with tufts of hair.

Actually," said Jace, "I prefer to think that I'm a liar in a way that's uniquely my own.

A Mark that spoke of loss was still a Mark, a remembrance. You could not lose something you never had.