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Was that Will? she said finally. Henry arched one ginger eyebrow. Perhaps he's been kidnapped and replaced by an automaton, he suggested. It seems possible... For once Charlotte could only find herself in agreement.

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
Finally
Ginger
Perhaps
Kidnapped
Possible
Charlotte
Seems
Henry
Find
Suggested
Eyebrows
Automaton
Replaced
Arched
Agreement
Eyebrow

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Only the very weak-minded refuse to be influenced by literature and poetry.
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Because in the end nothing is worse than seeing the fall of one you loved. It was somehow worse than losing a love. It made everything seem questionable. It made the past bitter and confused.
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I want to kiss you one more time before I die.
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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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For a moment she just stared, wondering if there were another girl staying here, or if Sebastian had taken to cross-dressing.
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What are you thinking? Just how different everything down there is now, you know, now that I can see. Everything down there is exactly the same, he said. You're the one that's different.
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Perhaps, but you would not exist without a woman, would you? However little use you may find us, we are cleverer and more determined and more patient than men. Men may be stronger, but it is women who endure.
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Reparations,” said Jem very suddenly, setting down the pen he was holding. Will looked at him in puzzlement. “Is this a game? We just blurt out whatever word comes next to mind? In that case mine is ‘genuphobia’. It means an unreasonable fear of knees.” “What’s the word for a perfectly reasonable fear of annoying idiots?” inquired Jessamine.
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Will looked as if he were being asked to believe in something impossible—snow in summertime, a London winter without rain.
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Now I wonder all the time how you go back after something like that. Whether we can ever be friends again, or if what we had is broken into pieces. Not because of her, but because of me.
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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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Henry patted Charlotte’s shoulder anxiously. “Would you like a cool cloth? What can I do to help?” “You could ride up to Yorkshire and chop that old goat’s head off.” Charlotte sounded mutinous. “Won’t that make things rather awkward with the Clave?” asked Henry. “They’re not generally very receptive about, you know, beheadings and things.
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There's always the dinner rolls, said Will, pointing to a covered basket. Though I warn you, they're as hard as stones. You could use them to kill black beetles, if any beetles bother you in the middle of the night.
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He flushed, the colour dark against his pale skin. 'I mean. Tessa Gray, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?' Jem.
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How can you not understand? He pointed at her books. You read novels. Obviously, I'm here to rescue you. Don't I look like Sir Galahad? He raised his arms dramatically. My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure---
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Inanimate objects are harmless indeed, Mr. Mortmain. But one cannot always say the same of the men who use them.
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When two souls are as one, they stay together on the Wheel. I was born into this world to love you, and I will love you in the next life, and the one after that. ~Jem Carstairs
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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.
Cassandra Clare
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Will gave a short laugh. He was in gear as if he had just come from the practice room, and his hair curled damply against his temples. He was not looking at Tessa, but she had grown used to that. Will hardly ever looked at her unless he had to.
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to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed.
Cassandra Clare