Was this what it meant to love someone? That any burden was a burden shared, that they could give you comfort with a word or a touch?

Clary wondered how many boyfriends she'd turned into rats by accident. -Clary to Isabelle, pg.245-

Your plans are suicidal. At best.

And indeed it was, the arrow still protruding from its wet, grayish skin, humping its body along with incredible speed. A flick of its tail caught the edge of a statue, sending it flying into the dry ornamental pool, where it shattered into dust. “By the Angel, it just crushed Sophocles,” noted Will. “Has no one respect for the classics these days?

I think I’m better than everyone else. An opinion that has been backed up with ample evidence.

He'd woken up the next day in the city hospital with Magnus Bane staring down at him with an odd expression--it could have been deep concern or merely curiosity, it was hard to tell with Magnus.

We live and breathe words. .... It was books that made me feel that perhaps I was not completely alone. They could be honest with me, and I with them. Reading your words, what you wrote, how you were lonely sometimes and afraid, but always brave; the way you saw the world, its colors and textures and sounds, I felt-I felt the way you thought, hoped, felt, dreamt. I felt I was dreaming and thinking and feeling with you. I dreamed what you dreamed, wanted what you wanted-and then I realized that truly I just wanted you