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(Jace) Is there anything special you want to see? Paris? Budapest? The Leaning Tower of Pisa? Only if it falls on Sebastian's head, she 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
Head
Fray
Fall
Leaning
Thought
Tower
Anything
Jace
Towers
Falls
Pisa
Paris
Budapest
Special
Sebastian

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Will: Nice place to live, isn't it? Let's hope they left something behind other than filth. Forwarding addresses, a few severed limbs, a prostitute or two ... Jem: Indeed. Perhaps, if we're fortunate, we can still catch syphilis. Or demon pox, Will suggested cheerfully, trying the door under the stairs.
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Sebastian sighed an exaggerated sigh and swung the door shut. Clary stared at Jace. What the f- Language, Fray. Jace's eyes danced. Relax.
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Why did he kiss you? she said.
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Watching Jace hug Isabelle, she tried to school her features into a happy and loving expression. Are you all right? Simon asked, with some concern. Your eyes are crossing.
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Your life is yours to live as you choose.
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And spare me the jokes about scoring. Dammit, woman, you read my mind, he said. Is there no filthy wordplay you can't forsee? It's my special magical power. I can read your mind when you're thinking dirty thoughts. So, ninety-five percent of the time.
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Oh, its big enough,” he said patronizingly, “but somehow I was expecting…you know.” He gestured with his hands, indicating something roughly the size of a house cat. “It’s the Mortal Cup, Jace, not the Mortal Toilet Bowl,” said Isabelle. -Jace & Isabelle, pg.349-
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Simon stepped between them. “I’m not going to let you fight with each other.” “And what are you going to do about it if . . . Oh.” Jace's gaze trailed up to Simon’s forehead, and he grinned reluctantly. “ So basically you’re threatening to turn me into something you can sprinkle on popcorn if I don’t do what you say?
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I don't know how I could sleep at night, not knowing I was surrounded by a thousand other sleeping, dreaming souls. - pg 120, Jem to Tessa & Will
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So you're trying to make her happy despite the fact that the reason she's unhappy in the first place is you, said Simon, not very kindly. That seems contradictory, doesn't it? Love is a contradiction, said Jace.
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Every memory was valuable even the bad ones.
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He bent down to her their mouths met again, and the shock of sensation was so strong, so overpowering, that she shut her eyes against it as if she could hide in the darkness. He murmured and gathered her against him.
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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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I would write light entertainment nonfiction pieces during the day, then come home and work on my fantasy fiction. It was very difficult to get out of the one mindset and into another one.
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What are you doing here anyway? 'Here' as in your bedroom or 'here' as in the great spiritual question of our purpose here on this planet?
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Is this one of those days where we all stalk out in fury? Because I simply haven't got the energy for it.
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I don't want tea, said Clary, with muffled force. I want to find my mother. And then I want to find out who took her in the first place, and I want to kill them. Unfortunately, said Hodge, we're all out of bitter revenge at the moment, so it's either tea or nothing.
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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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A patient, methodical sort of madman. The worst kind.
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