All The Stories Are True

The Dark Prince Sat Astride His Black Steed, His Sable Cape Flowing Behind Him. A Golden Circlet Bound His Blond Locks, His Handsome Face Was Cold With The Rage Of Battle, And... "and His Arm Looked Like An Eggplant," Clary Muttered To Herself In Exasperation.

It’s Fascinating. You Know All These Words, And They’re All English, But When You String Them Together Into Sentences, They Just Don’t Make Any Sense.

What Do You Think It Would Have Been Like If Valentine Had Brought You Up Along With Me? Would You Have Loved Me?" Clary Was Very Glad She Had Put Her Cup Down, Because If She Hadn't, She Would Have Dropped It. Sebastian Was Looking At Her Not With Any Shyness Or The Sort Of Natural Awkwardness That Might Be Attendant On Such A Bizarre Question, But As If She Were A Curious, Foreign Life-form. "well," She Said. "you're My Brother. I Would Have Loved You. I Would Have...had To.

You Kindled Me, Heap Of Ashes That I Am, Into Fire. He Had Wondered Once Why Love Was Always Phrased In Terms Of Burning. The Conflagration In His Own Veins, Now, Gave The Answer.

In The End That Was The Choice You Made, And It Doesn't Matter How Hard It Was To Make It. It Matters That You Did.