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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.

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
Looked
Asked
Impossible
Without
Summertime
Something
Snow
Believe
London
Winter
Rain

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He didn't know what books meant to her, that books were symbols of truth and meaning.
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She had never asked herself whether it cost him any effort. Any effort to stand between Will and the world, protecting each one of them from the other.
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Far below ran the silver ribbon of the East River, braceleted by shining bridges, flecked by boats as small as flyspecks, splitting the shining banks of light that were Manhattan and Brooklyn on either side.
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He had electric blue hair that had stuck around his head like tendrils of a startled octopus.
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Just kissing? How quickly you dismiss our love.
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Women do not think with logic and discretion but with emotions of the heart
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I think you'll find that one would be self-defeating. Jace said lightly shoving his feet into his boots. We are bound, he and I. Cut him and I bleed.
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You know how the bonds of family are, my lady... They cling as tightly as vines. And sometimes, like vines, they cling tightly enough to kill.
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It’s like a cotillion, this partners business, except with killing.” “So, exactly like a cotillion,” said Simon.
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No one can say that death found in me a willing comrade, or that I went easily.
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He had lost Will Herondale. And he did not know if he could ever get him back.
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Ragnor [was] always happy to see chaos, but not be involved in it.
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There is no cure for fictional character love, but the plus side is that it is an entirely benign disease with no bad side effects.
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He does what he wants, and I don’t ask,” he said. “He could bring a six-foot tall pink rabbit in a bikini back home with him if he wanted to. It’s not my business. But if you’re asking me if I’ve brought any girls back here, the answer is no. I don’t want anybody but you.
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Lies and secrets, Tessa, they are like a cancer in the soul. They eat away what is good and leave only destruction behind.
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She felt dirty all over and looking over Sebastian, sweat on his brow and his naked torso barely covered by the sheets, she had to swallow back bile at what she'd just done.
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Memories did one no good, not when one knew the truth in the present. Will was beautiful, but he was not hers he was anybody's. Something in him was broken, and trough that break spilled a blind cruelty, a need to hurt and to push away.
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There is nothing quite like the moral absolutism of the young. -Hodge
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