Sierra

“I've noticed the Fair Folk often say 'perhaps' when there is a truth they want to hide," Clary said. "It keeps you from having to give a straight answer."
"Perhaps so," said the Queen with an amused smile.
"'Mayhap' is a good word too," Alec suggested.
"Also 'perchance,'" Izzy said.
"I see nothing wrong with 'maybe'," said Simon. "A little modern, but the gist of the idea comes across.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Lost Souls

“All right. Are you going to come back? Do you want any soup?"
"No," said Jace.
"Do you think Hodge will want any soup?"
"No one wants any soup."
"I want some soup," Simon said.
"No, you don't," said Jace. "You just want to sleep with Isabelle."
Simon was appalled. "That is not true."
"How flattering," Isabelle murmured into the soup, but she was smirking.
"Oh, yes it is," said Jace. "Go ahead and ask her—then she can turn you down and the rest of us can get on with our lives while you fester in miserable humiliation." He snapped his fingers. "Hurry up, mundie boy, we've got work to do.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Bones

“Thank you,” Simon said. “It’s a joke, Isabelle. He’s the Count. He likes counting. You know. ‘What did the Count eat today, children? One chocolate chip cookie, two chocolate chip cookies, three chocolate chip cookies . . .’”

There was a rush of cold air as the door of the restaurant opened, letting in another customer. Isabelle shivered and reached for her black silk scarf. “It’s not realistic.”

“What would you prefer? ‘What did the Count eat today, children? One helpless villager, two helpless villagers, three helpless villagers . . .”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Fallen Angels

“It doesn't hurt."
"But my eyes do," said a coolly amused voice from the doorway. Jace. He had come in so quietly that even Simon hadn't heard him; closing the door behind him, he grinned as Isabelle pulled Simon's shirt down. "Molesting the vampire while he's too weak to fight back, Iz?" he asked. "I'm pretty sure that violates at least one of the Accords."
"I'm just showing him where he got stabbed," Isabelle protested, but she scooted back to her chair with a certain amount of haste.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Glass