Cassandra Clare Quotes

Nearly unlimited supernatural power, and all you do is use it to watch reruns. What a waste.

A werewolf. Like everyone else here. Except you, and the asshole. And the asshole's sister.

"My name is Herondale," the boy said cheerfully. "William Herondale, but everyone calls me Will. Is this really your room? Not very nice, is it?" He wandered toward the window, pausing to examine the stacks of books on her bedside table, and then the bed itself. He waved a hand at the ropes. "Do you often sleep tied to the bed?"

Above her another window opened, and Alec leaned out. 'What's going on?' His gaze landed on Clary and the others, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. 'What is this? Early caroling?' 'I don't carol,' said Simon. 'I'm Jewish. I only know the dreidel song.'

"We need to talk. All of us About what we're going to do now."
"I was going to watch Project Runway."

Will rose slowly to his feet. He could not believe he was doing what he was doing, but it was clear that he was, clear as the silver rim around the black of Jem’s eyes. “If there is a life after this one,” he said, “let me meet you in it, James Carstairs.”

“There will be other lives.” Jem held his hand out, and for a moment, they clasped hands, as they had done during their parabatai ritual, reaching across twin rings of fire to interlace their fingers with each other. “The world is a wheel,” he said. “When we rise or fall, we do it together.”

Will tightened his grip on Jem’s hand, which felt thin as twigs in his. “Well, then,” he said, through a tight throat, “since you say there will be another life for me, let us both pray I do not make as colossal a mess of it as I have this one.

Inanimate objects are harmless indeed, Mr. Mortmain. But one cannot always say the same of the men who use them.

He cut his glance toward Jace, who was walking a few paces ahead of them, apparently conversing with the cat. Clary wondered what they were talking about. Politics? Opera? The high price of tuna?

We are all the pieces of what we remember. We hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there is love and memory, there is no true loss.

"How awfully convenient for you, regardless. And for him. He won't have to worry about you spilling his secrets."
"Yeah," Jace said. "He's terrified I'll tell everyone that he's always wanted to be a ballerina."

Tessa craned her head back to look at Will. “You know that feeling,” she said, “when you are reading a book, and you know that it is going to be a tragedy; you can feel the cold and darkness coming, see the net drawing tight around the characters who live and breathe on the pages. But you are tied to the story as if being dragged behind a carriage and you cannot let go or turn the course aside.” His blue eyes were dark with understanding — of course Will would understand — and she hurried on. “I feel now as if the same is happening, only not to characters on a page but to my own beloved friends and companions. I do not want to sit by while tragedy comes for us. I would turn it aside, only I struggle to discover how that might be done.”
“You fear for Jem,” Will said.
“Yes,” she said. “And I fear for you, too.”
“No,” Will said, hoarsely. “Don’t waste that on me, Tess.

Demonic activity levels? Do they have a device that measures whether the demons inside the house are doing power yoga?

Here, I'll practice on you. Mom. I have something to tell you. I'm undead. Now, I know you may have some preconceived notions about the undead. I know you may not be comfortable with the idea of me being undead. But I'm here to tell you that the undead are just like you and me. Well, okay. Possibly more like me than you.

Drive fast, mundane. Drive like hell was following you.

When the self-congratulatory part of the evening is over, maybe we could get back to saving my best friend from being exsanguinated to death?