Cassandra Clare

Isabelle," she said, lightening her tone with an obvious effort, "your loyalty to your friend is understandable --""He's not my friend." Isabelle looked over at Jace, who was staring at her in a sort of daze. "He's my brother.

You are a Lightwood," Cecily said. "You stayed because you were loyal to your family name. It is not cowardice.""Wasn't it? Is loyalty still a commendable quality when it is misdirected?"Cecily opened her mouth, then closed it again. Gabriel was looking for her, his eyes shining in the moonlight. He seemed genuinely desperate to hear her answer. She wondered if he had anyone else to talk to. She could see how it might be terrifying to take one's moral qualms to Gideon; he seemed so staunch, as if he never questioned himself in his life and would not understand those who did."I think," she said, choosing her words with care, "that any good impulse can be twisted into something evil. Look at the Magister. He does what he does because he hates the Shadowhunters, out of loyalty to his parents, who cared for him, and who were killed. It is not beyond the realm of understanding. And yet nothing excuses the result. I think when we make choices-for each choice is individual of the choices we have made before-we must examine not only our reasons for making them but what result they will have, and whether good people will be hurt by our decisions.

She looked as if she were in the middle of posing for an unbelievably glamorous photo shoot. Then again, she always did. It was her talent. Clary, however, was staring stubbornly up into Isabelle__ face and talking to her. Simon thought Clary would get her way and get Isabelle to pay attention to her eventually. That was her talent.

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 no one there to comfort you? And what was worse, when you couldn't even comfort yourself?

When he let go of Clary, he turned and hugged Jace. Clary watched, tears running down her face.

When Magnus looked at Imasu, he saw Imasu had dropped his head into his hands."Er," Magnus said. "Are you quite all right?""I was simply overcome," Imasu said in a faint voice.Magnus preened slightly. "Ah. Well.""By how awful that was," Imasu said.Magnus blinked. "Pardon?""I can't live a lie any longer!" Imasu burst out. "I have tried to be encouraging. Dignitaries of the town have been sent to me, asking me to plead with you to stop. My own sainted mother begged me, with tears in her eyes - ""It isn't as bad as all that - ""Yes, it is!" It was like a dam of musical critique had broken. Imasu turned on him with eyes that flashed instead of shining. "It is worse than you can possibly imagine! When you play, all of my mother's flowers lose the will to live and expire on the instant. The quinoa has no flavor now. The llamas are migrating because of your music, and llamas are not a migratory animal. The children now believe there is a sickly monster, half horse and half large mournful chicken, that lives in the lake and calls out to the world to grant it the sweet release of death. The townspeople believe that you and I are performing arcane magic rituals - ""Well, that one was rather a good guess," Magnus remarked." - using the skull of an elephant, an improbably large mushroom, and one of your very peculiar hats!""Or not," said Magnus. "Furthermore, my hats are extraordinary.""I will not argue with that." Imasu scrubbed a hand through his thick black hair, which curled and clung to his fingers like inky vines. "Look, I know that I was wrong. I saw a handsome man, thought that it would not hurt to talk a little about music and strike up a common interest, but I don't deserve this. You are going to get stoned in the town square, and if I have to listen to you play again, I will drown myself in the lake.""Oh," said Magnus, and he began to grin. "I wouldn't. I hear there is a dreadful monster living in that lake."Imasu seemed to still be brooding about Magnus's charango playing, a subject that Magnus had lost all interest in. "I believe the world will end with a noise like the noise you make!""Interesting," said Magnus, and he threw his charango out the window."Magnus!""I believe that music and I have gone as far as we can go together," Magnus said. "A true artiste knows when to surrender.""I can't believe you did that!"Magnus waved a hand airily. "I know, it is heartbreaking, but sometimes one must shut one's ears to the pleas of the muse.""I just meant that those are expensive and I heard a crunch.

A Mark that spoke of loss was still a Mark, a remembrance. You could not lose something you never had.

He knew what 'I love you' meant, and he knew it was good, but he didn't understand why it was an explanation for anything.

Because what was the point in crying when there was no one there to comfort you? And what was worse, when you couldn't even comfort yourself?

Every time they saw him, they recognized him and knew him and expected things of him. And every time he came up blank. It was like watching someone digging where they knew they'd buried something precious, digging and digging and realizing that whatever it was--was gone. But they kept digging just the same, because the idea of losing it was so terrible and because maybe.Maybe.He was that lost treasure. He was that maybe. And he hated it. That was the secret he was trying to keep from them, the one he was always fearing he would betray.

GOD HAS NOT MERCY AND NOR WILL I' - The Midnight Heir (The Bane Chronicles, 4) by Cassandra Clare and Sarah Rees Brennan

By the Angel, it just crushed Sophocles," noted Will. "Has no one respect for the classics these days?

I don't know why I ever helped you.""You like broken things.

Charlotte said that if I chose, I could cease to be a Gray and take the name my mother should have had before she was married. I could be a Starkweather. I could have a true Shadowhunter name." She heard Will exhale a breath. It came out a puff of white in the cold. His eyes were blue and wide and clear, fixed on her face. He wore the expression of a man who had steeled himself to do a terrifying thing, and was carrying it through. "Of course you can have a true Shadowhunter name," Will said. "You can have mine.

If I held a revolver to your head, James, and pulled the trigger, would it really matter if I did not know that there were not bullets in the chambers?

I am not going to live, and I can choose to be as much for her as I can be, to burn as brightly for her as I wish, and for a shorter time, than to burden her with someone only half-alive for a longer time. It is my choice, William, and you cannot make it for me.

Jem had moved the same way coming in, but as Will neared him, Jem took a step toward his former parabatai, and the step was swift, eager, and human, as if being close to the people whom he loved made him feel made of flesh and racing blood once more.__ou__e here,_ said Will, and implicit in the words was the sense that Will__ contentment was complete. Now Jem was there, all was right with the world.

Perhaps not," said Will, who had ears like a bat's. "But I would make a radiant bride.