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Magnus was sure that the llama stampede he witnessed was a coincidence. The llamas could not be judging him.

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
Coincidence
Judging
Sure
Llamas
Stampede
Magnus
Witnessed

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Light like thin grey soup seeped through the windows. The door opened and Mrs. Dark came in, followed by her sister, who had no head, only the white bone of her spine protruding from her raggedly severed neck.
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When I was a little kid, I realized that if you say any word over and over fast enough, it loses all it's meaning.
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Well, you'll have to wait till tomorrow. I'm out of commission. (he points to his shirt) Look. Jammies.
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What are you? Im a Shadowhunter.
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And in addition to its practical uses, it would seem to work for cosmetic purposes. This powder would make my very skin glimmer for eternity. Henry frowned. Not eternity, he said, but then he brightened. But I could make you up another batch whenever you please! I could shine at will! Magnus grinned at Henry.
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For as is often the happenstance with that which is precious and lost, when you find him again, he may well not be quite as you left him.
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nothing says 'I love you' like reducing yourself to a smoldering pile of ashes
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There were some memories, though, that never faded.
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It will bring you light even among the darkest shadows of this world and others
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Clary stopped wondering about peanut-fish-olive-tomato soup and started wondering what would happen if she dumped the contents of the pot on Isabelle’s head.
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For our purposes you can consider it a small country between Germany and France. But there isn't anything between Germany and France. Except Switzerland. Precisely, said Jace.
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Our souls are knit. We are one person, James.
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But that's what you're doing, isn't it? You're part of the fight just as much as the Shadowhunters on the ship—and I know you can take some of my strength, I've heard of warlocks doing that—so I'm offering. Take it. It's yours.
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Isabelle was holding an umbrella. It was clear plastic, decorated with decals of colorful flowers. It was one of the girliest things Simon had ever seen, and he didn’t blame Alec for ducking out from under it and taking his chances with the rain.
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Yes, he would have done that for Tessa - died to keep the ones she needed beside her - and so would Jem have done that for him or for Tessa, and so would Tessa, he thought, do that for both of them. It was a near incomprehensible tangle, the three of them, but there was one certainty, and that was that there was no lack of love between them.
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Marry me, he said. Marry me, Tess. Marry me and be Tessa Herondale. Or be Tessa Gray, or be whatever you wish to call yourself, but marry me and stay with me and never leave me, for I cannot bear another day of my life to go by that does not have you in it.
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Lips. There was something strangely, delicately indelicate about the word, like a kiss itself.
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We are but dust and shadows.
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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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