Cassandra Clare

e. "Thomas! We must away at once to the nearest brothel! I seek scandal and low companionship."

“That’s not necessary,” said Jace. “I can keep a perfectly good eye on Simon, thank you. He’s my neophyte Downworlder to mock and boss around, not yours.”

"If you were half as funny as you thought you were, my boy, you'd be twice as funny as you are."

I knew then that I hadn't stopped believing in God. I'd just stopped believing God cared. There might be a God, Clary, and there might not, but I don't think it matters. Either way, we're on our own.

"You know, when most girls say they want a big rock, they don't mean, you know, literally a big rock."

That sounds terrific, thought Clary. Just you, your comatose wife, your shell-shocked son, and your daughter who hates your guts. Not to mention that your two kids may be in love with each other. Yeah, that sounds like a perfect family reunion.

Humans were so stupid. They had something so precious, and they barely safeguarded it at all.

You’re not gay, are you?”

Simon’s greenish color deepened. “If I were, I would dress better.”

Witches and warlocks can only use magic because they have demon blood.”

“I use tools that are magical. And just to be able to do that, I have to undergo rigorous training. The rune tattoos on my skin protect me too. If you tried to use one of the seraph blades, for instance, it’d probably burn your skin, maybe kill you.”