Are you, monsieur, a man of your word?" "It really depends upon the word," Magnus said. "There are so many wonderful words.

I don't do what I'm told, but I might do what you want if you ask me nicely.

Clary closed her eyes. Remembering the way Jace had looked at her the night she'd freed Ithuriel, she couldn't help but imagine the way he'd look at her now if he saw her trying to lie down to die on the sand beside him. He wouldn't be touched, wouldn't think it was a beautiful gesture. He'd be angry at her for giving up. He'd be so--disappointed.

As dull as Nate Gray is," Will said, "his head is not actually filled with gears, Henry. He's a human.

You said I am a good man," he said. "But I am not that good a man. And I am--I am catastrophically in love with you.

Shutting your eyes and pretending something's not happening doesn't make it not true, Jace.

Stop. I don't do you favors, Alec. I do things for you because - well, why do you think I do them?" Something rose up in Alec's throat, cutting off his response. It was always like this when he was with Magnus. It was as if there were a bubble of pain or regret that lived inside his heart, and when he wanted to say something, anything, that seemed meaningful or true, it rose up and choked off his words. "I need to get back to the ship," he said, finally.