The first one is always the hardest," he said. "The first?" "The first one you love who dies," he said. "It gets easier, after.

Take my hands,” Alec said. “And take my strength too. Whatever of it you can use to— to keep yourself going.

My mom says you only need three people you can rely on to achieve self-actualization.

How can you not care?" "Practice," Magnus said, looking back to his book and turning the page.

Something snapped inside Maryse. “He is not a Herondale. He is a Lightwood. Jace Lightwood. He’s my son.

You are not the last dream of my soul. You are the first dream, the only dream I ever was unable to stop myself from dreaming. You are the first dream of my soul, and from that dream I hope will come all other dreams, a lifetime’s worth.

Keep up," said an irritable voice in her ear. It was Jace, who had dropped back to walk beside her. "I don't want to have to keep looking behind me to make sure nothing's happened to you." "So don't bother." "Last time I left you alone, a demon attacked you," he pointed out. "Well, I'd certainly hate to interrupt your pleasant night stroll with my sudden death." He blinked. "There is a fine line between sarcasm and outright hostility, and you seem to have crossed it.