City of Bones (The Mortal Instruments, #1)

by Cassandra Clare

“Clary, you’re an artist, like your mother. That means you see the world in ways that other people don’t. It’s your gift, to see the beauty and the horror in ordinary things. It doesn’t make you crazy—just different. There’s nothing wrong with being different.”

“How can you tell?” she asked the man behind the desk. “That I like books, I mean.” “The look on your face when you walked in,” he said, standing up and coming around from behind the desk. “Somehow I doubted you were that impressed by me.”

“If you were half as funny as you thought you were, my boy, you’d be twice as funny as you are.” She

LOL what

The most terrible things men do, they do in the name of love,”

“I don’t understand why mundanes always apologize for things that aren’t their fault.”

“I’m not apologizing. It’s a way of—empathizing. Of saying that I’m sorry you’re unhappy.” “I’m not unhappy,” he said. “Only people with no purpose are unhappy. I’ve got a purpose.”

“A Shadowhunter who kills another of his brothers is worse than a demon and should be put down like one,”

“It’s not the same thing at all. Vampires, werewolves, even warlocks, they’re part human. Part of this world, born in it. They belong here. But demons come from other worlds. They’re interdimensional parasites. They come to a world and use it up. They can’t build, just destroy—they can’t make, only use. They drain a place to ashes and when it’s dead, they move on to the next one. It’s life they want—not just your life or mine, but all the life of this world, its rivers and cities, its oceans, its everything. And the only thing that stands between them and the destruction of all this”—he pointed outside the window of the carriage, waving his hand as if he meant to indicate everything in the city from the skyscrapers uptown to the clog of traffic on Houston Street—“is the Nephilim.”

“Sure,” Jace said. “But we haven’t had the Cup for years now, and a lot of us die young. So our numbers slowly dwindle.” “Aren’t you, uh…” Clary searched for the right word. “Reproducing?”

‘Shadowhunters: Looking Better in Black Than the Widows of Our Enemies Since 1234.’ ” “Jace—” It means, said Jeremiah, The descent into Hell is easy.

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

that to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed.”

‘To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose both looks like carelessness.’ ”

They say that pity’s a bitter thing, but it’s better than hate.

There was silence when Magnus was done speaking. To Clary’s surprise, it was Alec who broke it. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “You can’t help how you’re born.”

Different isn’t better, Clarissa. Your mother was trying to protect you. Don’t throw it back in her face.”

Don’t ask him a question unless you know you can stand the answer.

“You’ve never seemed to really need anyone, Clary. You’ve always been so… contained. All you’ve ever needed is your pencils and your imaginary worlds. So many times I’ve had to say things six, seven times before you’d even respond, you were so far away. And then you’d turn to me and smile that funny smile, and I’d know you’d forgotten all about me and just remembered—but I was never mad at you. Half of your attention is better than all of anyone else’s.”

“I only ever loved three people in my life,” she said. “My mom and Luke, and you. And I’ve lost all of them except you. Don’t ever imagine you aren’t important to me—don’t even think it.”

“My mom says you only need three people you can rely on in order to achieve self-actualization,” said Simon. His tone was light but his voice cracked halfway through “actualization.” “She says you seem pretty self-actualized.”

Clary smiled at him ruefully. “Did your mom have any other words of wisdom about me?” “Yeah.” He returned her smile with one just as crooked. “But I’m not going to tell you what they were.” “No fair...

I saw you go off with Jace and Alec, and I don’t know… You looked so different from usual. You seemed so different. I couldn’t help thinking you’d changed already, and this new world of yours would leave me out. I wanted to do something that would make me more a part of it. So when the little green guy came by with the tray of drinks…”

Jace cocked an eyebrow at her. “Do you remember your father?” She shook her head. “No. He died before I was born.” “You’re lucky,” he said. “That way you don’t miss him.”

“Oh!” said Clary, and looked up to find Jace watching her. “Do they bloom every night?” “Only at midnight,” he said. “Happy birthday, Clarissa Fray.”

She stared at him in bewilderment. What on earth did he mean? “Trying to make me jealous? Why would you try to do that?” She saw immediately that this was the worst thing she could have asked him. “Because,” he said, so bitterly that it shocked her, “I’ve been in love with you for ten years, so I thought it seemed like time to find out whether you felt the same about me. Which, I guess, you don’t.”

“You really want to know what else it was my mom said about you?” he asked. She shook her head. He didn’t seem to notice. “She said you’d break my heart,”

She had told Simon earlier that she’d only ever loved three people: her mother, Luke, and him. She wondered if it was actually possible, within the space of a week, to lose everyone that you loved.

And yet—for those brief moments, up on the roof with Jace, she’d forgotten her mother. She’d forgotten Luke. She’d forgotten Simon. And she’d been happy. That was the worst part, that she’d been happy.

“Where there is feeling that is not requited,” said Hodge, “there is an imbalance of power. It is an imbalance that is easy to exploit, but it is not a wise course. Where there is love, there is often also hate. They can exist side by side.”

“Didn’t I read your tea leaves, Shadowhunter? Have you fallen in love with the wrong person yet?” Jace said, “Unfortunately, my one true love remains myself.”

She thought about the awful things she’d said to Alec, the way he’d thrown himself at Abbadon, the look of triumph on his face. When she turned her head now, she saw Jace kneeling next to his friend as blood seeped through the blanket. She thought of the little boy with the dead falcon. To love is to destroy.

“Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.”

“I may not believe in sin,” he said, “but I do feel guilt. We Shadowhunters live by a code, and that code isn’t flexible. Honor, fault, penance, those are real to us, and they have nothing to do with religion and everything to do with who we are. This is who I am, Clary,” he said desperately. “I am one of the Clave. It’s in my blood and bones. So tell me, if you’re so sure this wasn’t my fault, why is it that the first thought in my mind when I saw Abbadon wasn’t for my fellow warriors but for you?” His other hand came up; he was holding her face, prisoned between his palms. “I know—I knew—Alec wasn’t acting like himself. I knew something was wrong. But all I could think about was you….”

“If he dies, it will be like I killed him,” he said. “I let my father die, and now I’ve killed the only brother I ever had.”

The library was dark and smelled like rain: One of the windows had been left open, and a puddle of water had collected under the curtains.

Valentine raised his head with a pleasant smile. “I wonder,” he said, “what he will think of you when he wakes. Betrayal is never pretty, but to betray a child—that’s a double betrayal, don’t you think?”

“A lot,” Clary said flatly. “I know my mother was a Shadowhunter. I know she was married to Valentine and that she stole the Mortal Cup from him and went into hiding. I know that after she had me, she took me to Magnus Bane every two years to have my Sight taken away. I know that when Valentine tried to get you to tell him where the Cup was in exchange for my mom’s life, you told him she didn’t matter to you.”

“So when the moon’s only partly full, you only feel a little wolfy?” Clary asked. “You could say that.” “Well, you can go ahead and hang your head out the truck window if you feel like it.” Luke laughed. “I’m a werewolf, not a golden retriever.”

“Not everything that’s true needs to be said.

“You don’t have to tell me good things about your mother,” he added. “I already know them.” “Do you?” He shrugged slightly. “She raised you, didn’t she?”