The Lost Book of the White (The Eldest Curses, #2)

by Cassandra Clare

“Uh, hi,” said Alec Lightwood. “I’m home. Please don’t shoot me with magical rays.”

“I serve,” said Shinyun, “the Greatest Demon!” There was a pause. “Capitalism?” hazarded Magnus. “You and Ragnor have started a small business and you’re looking for investors.”

“One thing about faeries, they are committed to the aesthetic,”

“Every warlock’s life starts as a tragedy. There are no love stories in any warlock’s origins. But you get to choose. You choose what kind of world you live in.”

Alec wasn’t the biggest fan of spiders, and Magnus had grown entertained by his unwillingness to deal with even small ones that showed up in their loft, despite also being a heavily armed angelic warrior.

Time is a machine for turning love into pain.” “But there’s so much fun to be had on the way,”

if Magnus was in bed, as long as Alec was lying directly to his right, there was something of home, wherever he was.

It wasn’t love, but if you didn’t know the difference, it might have felt like love.

“life seems to me to be a matter of choosing love, over and over, even knowing that it makes you vulnerable, that it might hurt you later. Or even sooner. You just have no choice. You choose to love or you choose to live in an empty world with no one there but you. And that seems like a truly terrible way to spend eternity.”

If we don’t want the Cohort’s vision to become reality, we will have to be involved. To be loud, even if we would prefer not to be.”