Atque in pepetuum, frater, ave atque vale,” he whispered. The words of the poem had never seemed so fitting: Forever and ever, my brother, hail and farewell.

Not all that is mortal is useless.

Perhaps [James Herondale] loved vice for vice's own sake.

In Paris one could have the eyes of a cat (as he did) and tell people it was a trick of fashion.

[Will Herondale] would say he knew a warlock who was a better friend, and more worth trusting, than many a nephilim warrior.

So you're not going to speak tonight," Tessa said. "At all." "Not unless you instruct me to," said Will. "This evening sounds as if it might be better than I thought.

You're all he ever wants.