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I'm not so sure about this wind and howling darkness business, Jace went on, smells more like landfill to me. You sure you're not from Staten Island?

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
Wind
Landfills
Went
Howling
Sure
Smells
Business
Jace
Like
Island
Islands
Smell
Staten
Darkness
Landfill

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Isabella with her whip and boots and knives would chop anyone who tried to pen her up in a tower into pieces, build a bridge out of the remains, and walk carelessly to freedom, her hair looking fabulous the entire time.
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There’s more to honesty than … than an arrangement of words. They say faeries can’t lie, but you lie in your intentions, your attitude, your demeanor —
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He was staring straight ahead, still breathing hard. “I have something I want to give you.” “I gathered that.” At that he jerked his gaze back to hers and almost reluctantly grinned. “Not that.
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Maybe he's lonely. Sebastian can't be the greatest company. We don't know that. He could be absolutely fantastic at Scrabble, said Magnus.
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Don't bother her, don't try to talk to her, don't even look at her, or I'll fold you in half so many times you'll look like a tiny little origami werewolf.
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His hands slipped from his throat, and he crashed to the ground like a tree falling. Oh, dear, said Pangborn, gazing at the fallen body of his comrade with fastidious distaste. How unpleasant.
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And I think that you do not understand that sometimes the only choice is between acceptance and madness.
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Because', she said, 'your problems are not real problems. You're dating two beautiful girls at once. Think about it. That's like...having rock-star problems.' 'Having rock-star problems may be the closest I ever get to being an actual rock star.
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Is he dead? he inquired. He looks dead. No, snapped Maryse. He's not dead. Have you checked? I could kick him if you want.
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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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Luke moved as silently as fog, while Maryse's heels sounded like gunshots on the marble floor. Clary wondered if Isabelle's propensity for unsuitable footwear was genetic.
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Do you remember what I told you that first time at Taki's? About faerie food? I remember you said you ran down Madison Avenue naked with antlers on your head, said Clary, blinking silver drops off her lashes.
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Do you miss Wales?” Tessa inquired. Will shrugged lightly. “What’s to miss? Sheep and singing,” he said. “And the ridiculous language. Fe hoffwn i fod mor feddw, fyddai ddim yn cofio fy enw.” “What does that mean?” “It means ‘I wish to get so drunk I no longer remember my own name,’ Quite useful.
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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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Now that I'm in your mind, want to see some naked mental pictures of Jace?
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It was a very bad idea. It was a terrible idea. It was the worst idea he had ever heard. It was irresistible.
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All things tend toward entropy. The whole universe is moving outward, the stars pulling away from one another, God knows what falling through the cracks between them.
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Excuse me, Bane? said Roderick Morgenstern. Are you attending? I'm so sorry, Magnus said politely. Somebody incredibly attractive just came into the room, and I ceased to pay attention to a word you were saying.
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Shotgun! announced Clary as Jace came back around the side of the van. Alec grabbed for his bow, strapped across his back. Where? She means she wants the front seat, said Jace, pushing wet hair out of his eyes.
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What's wrong, little sis? You look upset. She could barely catch her breath. Cracked...my...nail polish slapping your... worthless face. See? She showed him her finger - just one of them. Cute He snorted.
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