She looked out then, through the crowd, and saw Simon with the Lightwoods, looking at her across the empty space that separated them. It was the same way that Jace had looked at her at the manor. It was the one thread that bound these two boys that she loved so much, she thought, their one commonality: They both believed in her even when she didn't believe in herself.

It was Eric's voice not Simon's, on the recorded message. “Ladies, ladies ” he said. Though it was the millionth time she’d heard the recording, Clary couldn't help rolling her eyes. “If you've reached this message that means our boy Simon is out partying. But please don’t fight among yourselves. There’s always enough Simon to go around.” There was a muffled yell, some laughter, and then the long sound of the beep.

Consider it a race to see who kills you first, Daylighter-Valentine, the other Downworlders, or the Clave.

Isabelle tugged her tank top back down and glared at her brother. “You don’t knock now?” “It’s my bedroom!” Alec spluttered.

Clary: What are you doing here, anyway? Jace: 'Here' as in your bedroom or 'here' as in the great spiritual question of our purpose here on this planet? If you're asking whether it's all just a cosmic coincidence or there's a greater metaethical purpose to life, well, that's a puzzler for the ages. I mean, simple ontological reductionism is clearly a fallacious argument, but- Clary: I'm going to bed.

I dislike boats," Ragnor observed, looking around. "I get vilely seasick." The turning green joke was too easy. Magnus was not going to stoop to make it.

There was no way possible [the queen] could have done all of the things the pamphleteers claimed. The crimes were too gross, too immoral and far too physically challenging. Magnus himself had never attempted half of them.