Devanshi K

“We shouldn’t,” protested Isabelle. “The Clave has a plan.”

“The Clave has the collective intelligence of a pineapple,” said Jace.

Alec blinked up at them. “Jace is right.”

Isabelle turned on her brother. “What do you know? You weren’t even paying attention.”

“I was,” Alec said, injured. “I said Jace was right.”

“Yeah, but there’s like a 90% chance of me being right most of the time, so that’s not proof you were listening,” said Jace. “That’s just a good guess.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Heavenly Fire

“No," said Simon. "I know we're not much compared to you, but we don't kill our friends. We try to save them. If Heaven didn't want it that way, we ought to have been given the ability to love." He shoved his hair back, baring the Mark more fully. "No, you don't need to help me. But if you don't, there's nothing stopping me from calling you up again and again, now that I know you can't kill me. Think of it as me leaning on you Heavenly doorbell... forever.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Lost Souls

“The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special too.”
― Ernest Hemingway, Men Without Women

“You’re a heartbreaker, Isabelle Lightwood,” he said, as lightly as he could with her blood still running through him like fire. “Jace told Clary once you’d walk all over me in high-heeled boots.”
“That was then. You’re different now.” She eyed him.
“You’re not scared of me.”
He touched her face. “A nd you’re not scared of anything.”
“I don’t know.” Her hair fell forward. “Maybe you’ll b r eak my heart.” Before he could say anything, she kissed him, and he wondered if she could taste her own blood. “Now shut up. I want to sleep,” she said, and she curled up against his side and closed her eyes.
Somehow, now, they fit, where they hadn’t before.
Nothing was awkward, or poking into him, or banging against his leg. It didn’t feel like childhood and sunlight and gentleness. It felt strange and heated and exciting and powerful and… different. Simon lay awake, his eyes on the ceiling, his hand stroking Isabelle’s silky black hair absently. He felt like he’d been caught up in a tornado and deposited somewhere very far away, where nothing was familiar. Eventually he turned his head and kissed Izzy, very lightly, on the forehead; she stirred and murmured but didn’t open her eyes.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Lost Souls