Quote

It's like banging my head against the wall, except if I were actually banging my head on a wall, I'd be able to make myself stop.

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
Able
Make
Like
Banging
Except
Wall
Head
Stop
Actually

More quotes by Cassandra Clare

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She felt as if she had been running, and had created a hill and was racing down the other side, and there was no stopping now. Gravity was taking her where she had to go. But -- everyone cares about something. Don't they?
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I've got the Mark of Cain, said Simon. That means nothing can kill me, right? You can kill yourself, Magnus said, somewhat unhelpfully. As far as I know, inanimate objects can accidentally kill you. So if you were planning on teaching yourself the lambada on a greased platform over a pit full of knives, I wouldn't. There goes my Sa
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I tell so many lies, sweetheart, he said. which one specifically?
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Light like thin grey soup seeped through the windows. The door opened and Mrs. Dark came in, followed by her sister, who had no head, only the white bone of her spine protruding from her raggedly severed neck.
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Be what you are. No one who really loves you will stop
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It was hidden inside another book. One Valentine was unlikely to ever open. Magnus smiled crookedly. Simple Recipes for Housewives. No one can say your mother didn't have a sense of humor.
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Filters are for cigarrettes and coffee, Simon muttered under his breath as they went inside. Two things I could use right now, incidentally.
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You're Valentine's son. I'm sure you're the one the Queen really wants to see. Besides, you're charming. Maybe not at the moment.
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I love reading epic fantasies and big fat books and so I really wanted to write one. I think you always write what you want to read.
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Demonic activity levels? Do they have a device that measures whether the demons inside the house are doing power yoga?
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I am not a certified idiot— Lack of certification hardly proves intelligence, Will muttered.
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Simon!” The voice was Clary’s. He would know it anywhere. He wondered if his mind was conjuring it up now, a sense memory of what he’d most loved during life to carry him through the process of death. “Simon, you stupid idiot! I’m over here! At the window!” Simon jumped to his feet. He doubted his mind would conjure that up.
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You can take your Law, she said in a measured tone, and shove it right up your-
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Alec looked merely irritated by this comment. The only way you could raise enough money to hire Magnus by selling lemonade is if you put meth in it.
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Lips. There was something strangely, delicately indelicate about the word, like a kiss itself.
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Clary grinned at Luke. “So you’re not moving to Idris, I take it?” “Nah,” he said. He looked as happy as she’d ever seen him. “The pizza here is terrible.
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You snuck up on me,” she said. “I guess I’m not much of a Shadowhunter, huh?” Simon shrugged. “Well, in your defense, I do move with a silent, pantherlike grace.
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You know, Kirk said finally, breaking the silence. I see it. He is pretty hot.
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She'd been impressed by his looks at first--those sharply planed cheekbones and those black, fathomless eyes--but his affable, sympathetic personality grated on her now. She didn't like boys who looked as if they never got mad about anything. In Isabelle's world, rage equaled passion equaled a good time.
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The witchlight made his skin paler, his eyes more intently blue. They were the color of the water in the North Atlantic, where the ice drifted on its blue-black surface like the snow clinging to the dark glass pane of a window.
Cassandra Clare