Hurry up, mundie boy, we've got work to do.

The young man who appeared at the mouth of the alley was pale in the lamplight—paler even than he usually was, which was quite pale indeed.

Stop it," he hissed in her ear. "You'll just make it worse for yourself. It's better if you don't look." "Like you do?" she hissed back. "Shutting your eyes and pretending something's not happening doesn't make it not true, Jace. You ought to know better-

Maybe he's lonely. Sebastian can't be the greatest company." "We don't know that. He could be absolutely fantastic at Scrabble," said Magnus.

(...)I don't know who I am. I look like Stephen Herondale, and I act like a Lightwood and I talk like my father- like Valentine. So I see myself in your eyes and i try to be that person and I think faith might be enough to make me who you wnat me to be." (Jace, to Clary)

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.

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.