Damnit.' Isabelle, Standing In The Mouth Of

Clary: What Are You Doing Here, Anyway? Jace: '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 Metaethical Purpose To Life, Well, That's A Puzzler For The Ages. I Mean, Simple Ontological Reductionism Is Clearly A Fallacious Argument, But- Clary: I'm Going To Bed.

Your Plans Are Suicidal. At Best.

It Was Only Recently That Isabelle Had Realized Other Girls Weren’t Just For Envying, Avoiding, Or Disliking.

As The Carriage Whipped Forward, They Passed The Alley She Had Spent So Many Days Staring At—it Was There, And Then Gone As They Careened Around A Corner, Nearly Knocking Over A Costermonger Pushing A Donkey Cart Piled High With New Potatoes. Tessa Screamed. Will Reached Past Her And Yanked The Curtain Shut. "it's Better If You Don't Look," He Told Her Pleasantly. "he's Going To Kill Someone. Or Get Us Killed." "no, He Won't. Thomas Is An Excellent Driver." Tessa Glared At Him. "clearly The Word Excellent Means Something Else On This Side Of The Atlantic.

You Have To Give Everyone Ugly Motives For Everything They Do, Because Ugly Motives Are All You Understand.