His blue eyes were very dark...Will's were the colour of the sky just on the edge of the night.

The boy was standing alone as though the broken glass all around him were a shining sea and he were an island.

I am, in the end, what you made me.

He wondered if normalcy was something, like vision or silence, you didn't realize was precious until you lost it.

You don't get it, Clary. You don't understand what it's like to live always at war, to grow up with battle and sacrifice. I guess it's not your fault. It's just how you were brought up-

Their beauty had always seemed to him like the beauty of pressed flowers-lovely, but dead.

He wanted to make her laugh. He wanted to sit and listen to her talk about books until his ears fell off. But all these were things he could not want, because they were things he could not have, and wanting what you could not have led to misery and madness.