By the time Alec came back into the training room, Jace was lying on the floor, envisioning lines of dancing girls in an effort to ignore the pain in his wrists. It wasn’t working. ~pg. 317~

When I was a little kid, I realized that if you say any word over and over fast enough, it loses all it's meaning.

You're a public menace. You shouldn't be allowed out on your own.

You're sitting on my bed," he said. "Did yo think I was under it?

Don't make it sound like that. Like some ordinary sort of grief. It's not like that. They say time heals all wounds, but that presumes the source of the grief is finite. Over. This is a fresh wound every day.

There is no cure for fictional character love, but the plus side is that it is an entirely benign disease with no bad side effects.

You'd think the Angel would have been foresighted enough to give us a birth-control rune, but no dice.