He took something out of his jacket and handed it to her. It was a long thin dagger in a leather sheath. The hilt of the dagger was set with a single red stone carved in the shape of a rose. She shook her head. "I wouldn't even know how to use that--" He pressed it into her hand, curling her fingers around it. "You'd learn." He dropped his voice. "It's in your blood." She drew her hand back slowly. "All right." "I could give you a thigh sheath to put that in," Isabelle offered. "I've got tons." "CERTAINLY NOT," said Simon.

I know you worry about me needing you, but I shouldn't be with you because I need you. I should be with you because I love you.

She had fallen asleep with her head on his arm, the clockwork angel, still around her throat, resting against his shoulder just to the left of his collarbone. As she moved away, the clockwork angel slipped free and she saw to her surprise that where it had lain against his skin it had left a mark behind, no bigger than a shilling, in the shape of a pale white star.

It was like a bad movie except he didn’t actually twirl his mustache.” -Jace to Maryse about Valentine, pg.122-

That sounds almost practiced, James Carstairs. How many girls have you made swoon with that observation?" "There is only one girl I care to make swoon," he said. "The question is, does she?" She smiled at him. "She does.

Seeing through glamour is easy. It's people that are hard.

Tessa is gone, and every moment she is gone is a knife ripping me apart from the inside. She is gone, and they cannot track her, and I have no idea where to go or what to do next, and the only person I can imagine speaking my agony to is the one person who cannot know.