City of Bones

“You're an idiot."
"I've never claimed to be otherwise.”

“You're an idiot."
"I've never claimed to be otherwise.”

“Have you fallen in love with the wrong person yet?"

Jace said, "Unfortunately, Lady of the Haven, my one true love remains myself."

“Is this the part where you start tearing off strips of your shirt to bind my wounds?"

"If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked.”

“Investigation?" Isabelle laughed. "Now we're detectives? Maybe we should all have code names."

"Good idea," said Jace. "I shall be Baron Hotschaft Von Hugenstein.”

“You're not gay, are you?"
Simon's greenish color deepened. "If I were, I would dress better.”

“Shadowhunters: Looking Better in Black Than the Widows of our Enemies Since 1234.”

“Shadowhunters: Looking Better in Black Than the Widows of our Enemies Since 1234.”

“Is this the part where you start tearing off strips of your shirt to bind my wounds?"
"If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked.”

“The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he'd learned: that to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed.”

“Where there is love, there is often also hate. They can exist side by side.”

“Where there is love, there is often also hate. They can exist side by side.”

“Keep in mind that when your mother fled from the Shadow World, it wasn’t the monsters she was hiding from. Not the warlocks, the wolf-men, the Fair Folk, not even the demons themselves. It was them. It was the Shadowhunters.”

“The meek may inherit the earth, but at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me.”

“You want to know what it’s like when your parents are good churchgoing folk and you happen to be born with the devil’s mark?”

"Ignore him," Clary said to Jace, and elbowed Simon in the side. "He always says exactly what comes into his head. No filters."

"Sarcasm is the last refuge of the imaginatively bankrupt," she told him.

"'Here' as in your bedroom or 'here' as in the great spiritual question of our purpose here on this planet? If you're asking whether it's all just a cosmic coincidence or there's a greater meta-ethical purpose to life, well, that's a puzzler for the ages. I mean, simple ontological reductionism is clearly a fallacious argument, but-"

Two teenage girls sitting on an orange bench seat were giggling together. The sort of girls Clary had never liked at St. Xavier's, sporting pink jelly mules and fake tans.

She'd never understood why some girls felt the need to smell like dessert.

Clary wondered if there were any ugly vampires, or maybe any fat ones. Maybe they didn't make vampires out of ugly people. Or maybe ugly people didn't want to live forever.

She was standing so close that she could smell the scent of him, sweat and soap and blood.

"You may be the only guy my age I've ever met who knows what bergamot is, much less that it's in Earl Grey tea."
"Yes, well," Jace said, with a supercilious look. "I'm not like other guys."

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

Jace leaned forward and banged his hand against the partition separating them from the cab driver. "Turn left! Left! I said to take Broadway, you brain-dead moron!"

...Jace reminded him, his voice soft as cat's fur.

The apple tasted green and cool.

"NO POINT?" Clary shouted, so loudly that Simon hid his head under her thumb. "HOW CAN YOU SAY THERE'S NO POINT?"

Jocelyn recognized reading as a sacred pastime and usually wouldn't interrupt Clary in the middle of a book, even to yell at her.

"Ew, no. They're practically related. They wouldn't do that."

Clary let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

“Sarcasm is the last refuge of the imaginatively bankrupt.”

“Sarcasm is the last refuge of the imaginatively bankrupt.”