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He has become a worm. That is what I am telling you. I don't suppose it would be possible, said Henry into the silence, to, er, step on 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
Become
Henry
Would
Worms
Suppose
Telling
Step
Steps
Silence
Possible
Worm

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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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He was the one she was doing all this for, but sometimes she missed him so much it felt like she swallowed broken glass.
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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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Bitten? You mean you're a- A werewolf, said the girl. Like everyone else here. Except you, and the asshole. And the asshole's sister.
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You really want to know what else it was my mom said about you? he asked. She shook her head. He didn't seem to notice. She said you'd break my heart, he told her, and left.
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With God on your side, what does luck matter?
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You bled on the Speaking stars ...I bet there's a law somewhere about that.
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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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At last, the wheel comes full circle
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It's a coffee cup. She could hear the irritation in her own voice. I know it's a coffee cup. I can't wait till you draw something really complicated, like the Brooklyn Bridge or a lobster. You'll probably send me a singing telegram.
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Speaking of hope, did you see that shot Alec got off with his bow? That's my boyfriend.
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Please tell me you did not bring me out here so you could tell me a very boring story about your sister.
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It's not gray, Clary felt compelled to point out. It's green. If there was such a thing as terminal literalism, you'd have died in childhood, said Jace.
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Hate is nothing when weighed against survival. (Valentine)
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As Magnus turned to walk away from the church, he heard the sound of violin music carried to him on the cloudy London air, and remembered another night, a night of ghosts and snow and Christmas music, and Will standing on the steps of the Institute, watching Magnus as he went.
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Words were weapons, his father had taught him that, and he'd wanted to hurt Clary more than he'd ever wanted to hurt any girl. In fact, he wasn't sure he had ever wanted to hurt a girl before. Usually he just wanted them, and then he wanted them to leave him alone.
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He’s very pretty. For a human.” “He’s very broken,” said Magnus. “Like a lovely vase that someone has smashed. Only luck and skill can put it back together the way it was before.
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White for Shadowhunters is the color of funerals, Luke explained. “ But for mundanes, Jace, it’ s the color of weddings. Brides wear white to symbolize their purity.” “I thought Jocelyn said her dress wasn’t white,” Simon said. “Well,” said Jace, “I suppose that ship has sailed.” Luke choked on his coffee.
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You might at least believe that I know honor- honor and debt.
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You're a reader as well as a writer, so write what you'd want to read.
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