Cassandra Clare
Cassandra Clare is the pseudonym of the author of the young adult trilogy The Mortal Instruments.
"I figured all your classes were stuff like Slaughter 101 and Beheading for Beginners."
Simon Lewis: "If i feel the urge to burst into flames, I'll let you know."
"He means demons," said the dark haired boy speaking for the first time. " You do know what a demon is, don't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." The blue-haired boy's tone was pained but surly.
Jace was still staring at her as if she'd told him she'd found out one of the Silent Brothers doing nude cartwheels in the hallway.
"With Jace, you don't really get to choose your insulting nickname."
Kyle: "You know, some people think Shadowhunters are just myths. Like mummies and genies. Can you grant wishes?"
"However, there is something you should have. Something every Shadowhunter should have."
"An obnoxious, arrogant attitude?"
"Or maybe she's trying to take the attention off you," Simon said, almost absently. "You know since your parents don't know your gay and all."
Jace Wayland: "So it's true. You can walk in sunlight...I thought perhaps it might have worn off."
"I'm pure at heart. It repels the dirt."
"We need to talk. All of us. About what we're going to do now."
"I was going to watch Project Runway. It's on next."
"Do you think it was a coincidence?"
"Do I think what was a coincidence?"
"That we wound up in Pandemonium the same night that Jace and the others just happened to be there, pursuing a demon? The night before Valentine came for my mother?"
Simon shook his head. "I don't believe in coincidences."
"Neither do I."
"But I have to admit, coincidence or not, it turned out to be a fortuitous occurrence."
Jace: "Neither does this, but I don't care. I'm sick of trying to pretend I can live without you. Don't you understand that? Can't you see it's killing me?"
"Maybe I should ask for blessings on my mission against all those who wear white after Labor Day."
"Wait a second."
"I never understand why people say that," Luke said, to no one in particular. "I wasn't going anywhere."
"In future, Clarissa," he said, "it might be wise to mention that you already have a man in your bed, to avoid such tedious situations."
Isabelle with her whip and boots and knives would chop anyone who tried to pen her up in a tower into pieces, build a bridge out of the remains, and walk carelessly to freedom, her hair looking fabulous the entire time.
"We seem to be trapped in an episode of One Life to Waste. It's all very dull."