I wouldn't call that an instrument of music," Ragnor observed sourly. "An instrument of torture, perhaps. — Cassandra Clare Copy Share Image
“What - what - what are you doing?" he demanded. "I am almost six hundred years old," Magnus claimed, and Ragnor snorted,… — Cassandra Clare Copy Share Image
I learned to play the instruments of war," he said, "and paint in blood. — Cassandra Clare Copy Share Image
“Simon's band never actually produced any music. Mostly they sat around in Simon's living room, fighting about potential names and band logos.… — Cassandra Clare Copy Share Image
Ragnor and Catarina both begged him to give the instrument up. Random strangers on the street begged him to give the instrument… — Cassandra Clare Copy Share Image
Against his own will, almost, Will felt himself understanding; he would have done anything, he thought, told any lie, taken any risk, to make… — Cassandra Clare Copy Share Image
“So Jace is my actual family," Kit said. "But I can't go live with him, because him and his hot girlfriend are going off… — Cassandra Clare Copy Share Image
Clarissa," he said, "here with the vampire, I see. When things have settled a bit, we really must discuss you choice in pets.. — Cassandra Clare Copy Share Image
Must I go bound while you go free Must I love a manwho doesn't love me Must I be born with so little art… — Cassandra Clare Copy Share Image
If you're texting Magnus to say 'I think u r kewl,' I'm going to kill you." "Who's Magnus?" Max inquired. "He's a warlock," said… — Cassandra Clare Copy Share Image
“they all have always loved you Will Herondale, for you cannot hide what is good about yourself, however har you try.” — Cassandra Clare Copy Share Image
“We work through this together, remember? No shutting me out. No epic sulks.” “I was figuring I could sulk for Idris in the next… — Cassandra Clare Copy Share Image
“Lex malla, lex nulla,” said Julian with a regretful wave of his hand. It was the Blackthorn family motto: A bad law is no… — Cassandra Clare Copy Share Image
Maybe that was why she couldn't cry, she realized, staring dry-eyed at the ceiling. Because what was the point in crying when there was… — Cassandra Clare Copy Share Image
