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There. She had thanked Sebastian. She waited for a bolt of lightning to shoot out of the clouds and striker her dead. But nothing happened.

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
Lightning
Shoot
Striker
Clouds
Strikers
Dead
Thanked
Happened
Sebastian
Nothing
Bolt
Bolts
Waited

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Jace, on the other hand, looked like the sort of boy who'd come over to your house and burn it down for kicks.
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Simon: 'You know men. We have delicate egos.' Clary: 'I wouldn't describe Jace's ego as delicate.' Simon: 'No, Jace's is sort of the antiaircraft artillery tank of male egos.
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I don’t know why I ever helped you.” “Because you like broken things.
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Forsooth, I no longer toil in vain, To prove that demon pox warps the brain. So though 'ti pity, it's not in vain That the pox-ridden worm was slain: For to believe in me, you all must deign.
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Clary wondered what exactly peanut-fish-olive-tomato soup tasted like.
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I care about you, Simon said. I always cared about you.
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Good organization,” said Magnus. “I knew the man who founded it, back in the 1800s. Woolsey Scot. Respectable old werewolf family.” Alec made an ugly sound in the back of his throat. “Did you sleep with him, too?” Magnus’s cat eyes widened. “Alexander!
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The front door shut, leaving Alec sitting in the half-lit garden, alone. He closed his eyes for a moment, the image of a face hovering behind his lids. Not Jace's face, for a change. The eyes set in the face were green, slit-pupiled. Cat eyes.
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I'm tired of watching you be in love with someone else someone who will never love you back, not the way I do.
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Hey Baby. Baby? You're kidding me, right? I was trying it out. No? No.
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Jace flushed a slow, dark red. It's not like that. If I thought it would help the Clave-but it won't. She'll just get hurt- Even if you thought it would help the Clave, Simon said, you'd never let them have her. What makes you say that, vampire? Because no one can have her but yousaid Simon
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If You don't give readers what they want, they'll be mad at you. If you give them what they do want, they'll be even more mad at you.
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Maybe Alexander Lightwood would not break his heart.
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You’re in my bones and my blood and my heart,” he said. “I’d have to tear myself open to let you go.
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The way Magnus’ breath had sounded, rattling in his chest, before he’d said his father’s name.
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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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There are ways in which we’re so alike. We’re reckless. We don’t think before we act. We’ll do anything for people we love. And I never thought how scary that was for the people who loved me until I saw
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well that's convenient, i guess blessings are easier to come by than i thought. maybe i should ask for blessings on my mission against all those who wear white after labor day
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For a moment Clary thought she might fall she felt as if something essential had been torn away from her, an arm or a leg, and she stared at Jace in blank astonishment-- what did he feel, did he feel nothing? She didn't think she could bear it if he felt nothing.
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Behind her, Jace moved out into the water with a contained grace that barely rippled the surface. Simon behind him, was splashing and cursing.
Cassandra Clare