We cant go around picking up every pile of dust in the place just in case it turns out to be Gregor in the morning." -Pg.242-

We're called Shadowhunters. At least, that's what we call ourselves. The Downworlders have less complimentary names for us.

Dear Alec & Magnus, It's Izzy. Got your card. Glad you're having fun. Nothing's happening here-Clary's mom is marrying some werewolf. I think you guys should get married too. I'm thinking about planing it. I love planing parties. -Isabelle

You may be the only guy my age I've ever met who knows what bergamot is, much less that it's in Earl Grey tea." "Yes, well," Jace said, with a supercilious look, "I'm not like other guys. Besides," he added, flipping a book off the shelf, "at the Institute we have to take classes in basic medicinal uses for plants. It's required." "I figured all your classes were stuff like Slaughter 101 and Beheading for Beginners." Jace flipped a page. "Very funny, Fray.

That's right," he said. "I created a a bunch of Forsaken Warriors, had them attack the Institute and kill Madeleine and nearly kill the rest of us, just so that I could keep Clary from at home. And lo and behold, my diabolical plan is working.

Actually," said Jace, "I prefer to think that I'm a liar in a way that's uniquely my own.

It was like a dam of musical critique had broken. Imasu turned on him with eyes that flashed instead of shining. "It is worse than you can possibly imagine! When you play, all of my mother's flowers lose the will to live and expire on the instant. The quinoa has no flavour now. The llamas are migrating because of your music, and llamas are not a migratory animal. The children now believe there is a sickly monster, half horse and half large mournful chicken, that lives in tha lake and calls out to the world to grant it the sweet release of death.