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I am a man he told her, and men do not consume pink beverages. Get thee gone woman, and bring me something brown.

Cassandra Clare

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Cassandra Clare
Age: 51
Born: 1973
Born: July 31
Author
Film Producer
Journalist
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
Teheran
Judith Rumelt
Something
Pink
Men
Jace
Brown
Thee
Told
Bring
Gone
Beverages
Woman
Consume

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Jordan followed, buttoning his jeans and muttering about how there was nothing strange about having a pattern of dancing penguins on your underwear.
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For free will is what makes us Heaven's creatures.
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Amor verus numquam moritur: True love never dies
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They landed at Simon's feet. Take your clothes and go! Isabelle shouted.
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So here’s where they put you. I didn’t think they even used these cells anymore.” He glanced sideways. “I got the wrong window at first. Gave your friend in the next cell something of a shock. Attractive fellow, what with the beard and the rags. Kind of reminds me of the street folk back home.
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I have a suggestion, said Valentine to Luke, in a surprisingly even tone. Let me guess, said Luke. It's 'Don't kill me,' isn't it?
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I really wish you hadn't worn that sweater,'he muttered into her ear. 'It's good practice for you,' she replied,her lips moving against his skin. 'Tomorrow,fishnets.' Against her side,warm and familiar,she felt him laugh.
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Nothing less than 7 inches.
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I get no sense from his note at all,” said Will, bounding to his feet, “except that he can quote Tennyson’s lesser poetry. Sophie, how quickly can you have Tessa ready?” “Half an hour,” said Sophie, not looking up from the dress. “Meet me in the courtyard in half an hour, then,” said Will. “I’ll wake Cyril. And be prepared to swoon at my finery.
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The front door shut, leaving Alec sitting in the half-lit garden, alone. He closed his eyes for a moment, the image of a face hovering behind his lids. Not Jace's face, for a change. The eyes set in the face were green, slit-pupiled. Cat eyes.
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And in some way, Clary thought, he meant it, meant his gratitude. He had long ago lost the ability to distinguish between force and cooperation, between fear and willingness, between love and torture. And with that realization came a rush of numbness—what was the point of hating Valentine for being a monster when he didn’t even know he was one?
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As Magnus turned to walk away from the church, he heard the sound of violin music carried to him on the cloudy London air, and remembered another night, a night of ghosts and snow and Christmas music, and Will standing on the steps of the Institute, watching Magnus as he went.
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Magic is dangerous- but love is more dangerous still
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Will remembered the two of them, running through the dark streets of London, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, seraph blades gleaming in their hands hours in the training room, shoving each other into mud puddles, throwing snowballs at Jessamine from behind an ice fort in the courtyard, asleep like puppies on the rug in front of the fire.
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Anyway that other thing we almost did in Paris-that's probably off the table for a while.Unless you want that whole baby-I'm-on-fire-when-we kiss thing to become freakishly literal
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You have something on your neck. What Looks like a bite mark, what were you doing out all night, anyway? Nothing. I went walking in the park. Tried to clear my head. And ran into a vampire What? No! I fell. On your neck?
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Mr. Rochester never courted Jane Eyre, Tessa pointed out. No, he dressed up as a woman and terrified the poor girl out of her wits. Is that what you want?
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Magnus's eyes gleamed. He seems to like you. I saw him going for your hand out there like a squirrel diving for a peanut.
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You may have the worst timing since Napoleon decided the dead of winter was the right moment to invade Russia.
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There was human goodness in the world, she thought-all caught up with desires and dreams, regrets and bitterness, resentments and power, but it was there.
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