City of Bones (The Mortal Instruments, #1)

by Cassandra Clare

All the stories are true.

Jace means, of course, more than one thing by this. He means that everything she’d always been told didn’t exist—vampires, werewolves, faeries, ghosts, and monsters of all shape, size, and intention—did exist after all and that, in fact, the world is full of them. He means that the stories we believe in our hearts—stories in which we are the heroes, stories in which there are good people who rise up to defeat the evil, stories in which there is always hope—are also true. Clary ends City of Bones feeling a true sense of wonder as she flies over New York City, seeing revealed below all the magic and enchantment that had been previously hidden from her. All the stories are true.

Floor-length white gown, the kind women used to wear when this world was younger.

Far back inside his skull, the shackled boy’s second set of teeth began to grind.

“Of course I can see you,” Clary said. “I’m not blind, you know.” “Oh, but you are,” said Jace, bending to pick up his knife. “You just don’t know it.”

“You can’t just go around killing people.” “You’re right,” said Jace. “You can’t go around killing people.”

Simon headed off toward the coffee bar, muttering under his breath something to the effect that it was a far, far better thing he did now than he had ever done before.

What does this mean

“It’s Clary.” “I know,” he said. “Pretty name. Like the herb, clary sage. In the old days people thought eating the seeds would let you see the Fair Folk.

“We’re called Shadowhunters.

Im reading this at the same time my "shadow" self is coming up in therapy more

Jace succumbed. “All right. As long as it isn’t Earl Grey,” he added, wrinkling his fine-boned nose. “I hate bergamot.” Madame Dorothea cackled loudly and disappeared back through the bead curtain, leaving it swaying gently behind her. Clary raised an eyebrow at Jace. “You hate bergamot?” Jace had wandered over to the narrow bookshelf and was examining its contents. “You have a problem with that?” “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.”

Williamsburg waterfront.

Literally going to Williamsburg tomorrow

“And my hair is naturally blond,” said Jace. “Just for the record.”

Jace’s grin was a white flash in the darkness. “It means ‘Shadowhunters: Looking Better in Black Than the Widows of Our Enemies Since 1234.’ ”

hes cute

“Is this when you start tearing strips off your T-shirt to bind up my wound?” she joked. She hated the sight of blood, especially her own. “If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked.”

“And next time you’re planning to injure yourself to get my attention, just remember that a little sweet talk works wonders.”

“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.”

“I’ve been killing demons for a third of my life. I must have sent five hundred of them back to whatever hellish dimension they crawled out of. And in all that time—in all that time—I’ve never seen an angel. Never even heard of anyone who has.”