When I was a little kid, I realized that if you say any word over and over fast enough, it loses all meaning. I'd lie awake saying the words over and over to myself--'sugar,' 'mirror,' 'whisper,' 'dark.' 'Sister,'" he said softly. "You're my sister." "It doesn't matter how many times you say it. It'll still be true." "And it doesn't matter what you won't let me say, that'll still be true too.

That Jem makes beautiful things and I destroy them. That it really ought to be me dying and not him. I mean, what's the point of living if you can't even enjoy it? Yet Jem enjoys all the life he's got. It's not fair.

James, you are all the family I have. I would die for you. You know that. I would die without you. If it were not for you, I would be dead a hundred times over these past five years. I owe you everything, and if you cannot believe I have empathy, perhaps you might at least believe I know honor--honor, and debt--

Like letting spiders live because they eat mosquitoes, Clary thought. "So they're good enough to let live, good enough to make your food for you, good enough to flirt with-but not really good enough? I mean, not as good as people.

I get a lot of inspiration from Japanese manga, especially shoujo which tends to have elaborate and fantastical adventure plots.

All that existed was Jace; all she felt, hoped, breathed, wanted, and saw was Jace. Nothing else mattered.

He took her by the shoulders and pulled her closer to him, his fingers knotting in the fabric of her dress. Even more than in the attic, she felt caught in the eddy of a powerful wave that threatened to pull her over and under, to crush and break her, to wear her down to softness as the sea might wear down a piece of glass.