...In Paris she found Magnus, who was living in a garret apartment and paiting, an occupation for which he had no aptitude whatsoever. He let her sleep on a mattress by the window, and in the night, when she woke up screaming for Will, he came and put his arms around her, smelling of turpentine. "The first one is always the hardest," he said. "The first?" "The first one you love who dies," he said. "It gets easier, after.

You're gorgeous," she said. Her hands slid around to flatten themselves against his chest. "You know that right?" "And I just don't care," she says "Isabelle, I don't think-Wait, What?

You're staring at me," Simon said. "Why are you staring at me? Have I got something on my face?

She felt dirty all over and looking over Sebastian, sweat on his brow and his naked torso barely covered by the sheets, she had to swallow back bile at what she'd just done.

His beauty did not blaze like Will's did in fierce colors and repressed fire, but it had its own muted perfection, the loveliness of snow falling against a silver gray sky.

Pointless, needless suffering and pain? I don’t suppose it would help if I told you that was the way life is. The good suffer, the evil flourish, and all that is mortal passes away.

Gracious," said Cecily. "You must be Mr. Sallows." "Nephilim," observed the shop owner gloomily. "I detest Nephilim." "Hmph," said Cecily. "Charmed, I'm sure.