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So much saintlike patience cannot be good for anyone.

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
Patience
Anyone
Cannot
Much
Good

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Sharp are the arrows of a broken heart.
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Wherever we are, we are as one
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Jem cried out with all his remaining strength. You cannot go where I am going! Nor would I want that for you!
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She is fine. She hates us both but it really didn't sound like anything else was wrong
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You know, when someone prefers their own brother over you, it isn't a confidence booster.
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Dear me, said Will, and he took another bite of his apple. Is it because I'm better-looking than you?
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I screwed her over. I didn't want to see her screwed over by someone else.
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Maybe that was why she couldn't cry, she realized, staring dry-eyed at the ceiling. Because what was the point in crying when there was no one there to comfort you? And what was worse, when you couldn't even comfort yourself?
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And then you'd turn to me and smile that funny smile, and I know you'd forgotten all about me and just remembered -- but I was never mad at you. Half of your attention is better than all of anyone else's.
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Tess?” A soft voice at the door she looked up and saw Will there, silhouetted in the light from the corridor.
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If no one cares for you at all, do you even really exist?
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It means 'Shadowhunters: Looking Better in Black Than the Widows of our Enemies Since 1234'.
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You snuck up on me,” she said. “I guess I’m not much of a Shadowhunter, huh?” Simon shrugged. “Well, in your defense, I do move with a silent, pantherlike grace.
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Clary grinned at Luke. “So you’re not moving to Idris, I take it?” “Nah,” he said. He looked as happy as she’d ever seen him. “The pizza here is terrible.
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Dear God, woman,said Will. Are there any questions you don't want to know the answer to?
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Pain made you strong. Loss made you powerful.
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Magnus had been alive hundreds of years himself, and yet the simplest things could turn a day into a jewel, and a succession of days into a glittering chain that went on and on. Here was the simplest thing: a pretty girl liked him, and the day shone.
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Oh, I'll trust you, the boy told him carelessly. It hardly matters. We are all betrayed sooner or later—all betrayed, or traitors. I see that a flair for the dramatic runs in the blood, Magnus said under his breath.
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I didn't know you were bringing the mundane. His blue eyes flicked uneasily over Simon. That's what I like about you people, said Simon. You always make me feel so welcome.
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In a closed urban fantasy, the magical world is secret and no one knows about it. In an open urban fantasy, everyone knows about it. So with a closed fantasy, you have to figure out how the world keeps itself secret, and with an open one, you have to figure out how knowledge of magic has altered the world we know.
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