My rapier wit hides my inner pain.

Something snapped inside Maryse. “He is not a Herondale. He is a Lightwood. Jace Lightwood. He’s my son.

I should have warned her about your habit of never doing what you're told." Jace squinted at her. "Are those Isabelle's clothes? They look ridiculous on you."

"I could point out that you burned my clothes." -Jace and Clary pg. 63

There are ways in which we’re so alike. We’re reckless. We don’t think before we act. We’ll do anything for people we love. And I never thought how scary that was for the people who loved me until I saw

Just kissing? How quickly you dismiss our love.

If you knew how to cook, maybe I would eat," Jace muttered.

Isabelle froze, her spoon poised dangerously. "What did you say?"

Jace edged toward the fridge. "I said I'm going to look for a snack to eat."

That's what I thought you said." Isabelle turned her attention to the soup.