And Who Are All These People? There

Demons Feed On Death And Pain Madness," Valentine Said. "when I Kill, It Is Because I Must. You Grew Up In A Falsely Beautiful Paradise Surrounded By Fragile Glass Walls, My Daughter. Your Mother Created The World She Wanted To Live In And She Brought You Up In It, But She Never Told You It Was An Illusion. And All The Time The Demons Waited With Their Weapons Of Blood And Terror To Smash The Glass And Pull You Free Of The Lie.

We Live And Breathe Words. It Was Books That Kept Me From Taking My Own Life After I Thought I Could Never Love Anyone, Never Be Loved Again. It Was Books That Made Me Feel That Perhaps I Was Not Completely Alone. They Could Be Honest With Me, And I With Them.

Jem Leaned Closer Against The Chair, Staring Into The Fire. “better It Were My Hands,” He Said. Will Shook His Head. Exhaustion Was Muting The Edges Of Everything In The Room, Blurring The Flocked Wallpaper Into A Single Mass Of Dark Color. “no. Not Your Hands. You Need Your Hands For The Violin. What Do I Need Mine For?

Clary Stopped Wondering About Peanut-fish-olive-tomato Soup And Started Wondering What Would Happen If She Dumped The Contents Of The Pot On Isabelle’s Head.

You Ask A Lot Of Questions, Don't You?" "my Brother Always Says Curiosity Is My Besetting Sin.