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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.

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
Might
Tonight
Going
Evening
Sounds
Unless
Sound
Speak
Thought
Instruct
Better
Tessa

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Their beauty had always seemed to him like the beauty of pressed flowers-lovely, but dead.
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To marry a girl just to make her a widow,” said Gabriel Lightwood. “Many would say that was not a kindness.
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What don't kill me... Had better start running!
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Will had laid down his heart for her and Jem to walk upon because he loved them more than he loved himself
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I've never minded it, he went on. Being lost, that is. I had always thought one could not truly be lost if one knew one's own heart. But I fear I may be lost without knowing yours.
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Time was like the rain, glittering as it fell, changing the world, but something that could also be taken for granted. Until you love a mortal. Then time became gold in a miser's hands, every bright year counted out carefully, infinitely precious, and each one slipping through you fingers. Cassandra Clare: What Really Happened in Peru
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I'm not unhappy, he said. Only people with no purpose are unhappy. I've got a purpose.
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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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Have a little faith in my magic fingers
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Damnit.' Isabelle, standing in the mouth of the alley, her wet black hair like a cloak around her shoulders, kicked a trash can out of her way and glowered. 'Oh, for goodness's sake,' she said. 'I can't believe you two. Why? What's wrong with bedrooms? And pivacy?
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cleverness that comes too late is hardly cleverness at all?
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Simon watched a kelpie skip past, carrying a glass of blue fluid, and raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like Magnus’s party,” Isabelle reassured him. “Everything here ought to be safe to drink.” “Ought to be?” Aline look worried.
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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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A lot of people feel like urban fantasy is a shortcut that gets you around world-building, because it's set in the real world. But it doesn't really work that way, as I found out. You have to come up with just as consistent an internal cosmology and magic system as you would if you were writing high fantasy.
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He had to think he was Michael Wayland’s son, or the Lightwoods would not have protected him as they did. It was Michael they owed a debt to, not me. It was on Michael’s account that they loved him, not mine.” “Maybe they loved him on his own account,” said Clary.
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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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You can’t just keep grabbing at me every time you see me. It’s not a substitute for actually talking.
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There was something peculiarly gratifying about shouting in a blind rage until your words ran out.
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I was thinking about the first time I ever saw you and how after that I couldn't forget you. I wanted to, but I couldn't stop myself.
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Will looked horrified. What kind of monster could possibly hate chocolate?
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