Pain Made You Strong. Loss Made You

I Was Trying To Make You Jealous!" Simon Screamed, Right Back. His Hands Were Fisted At His Sides. "you're So Stupid, Clary. You're So Stupid, Can't You See Anything?" She Stared At Him In Bewilderment. What On Earth Did He Mean? "trying To Make Me Jealous? Why Would You Try To Do That?" She Saw Immediately That This Was The Worst Thing She Could Have Asked Him. "because," He Said, So Bitterly That It Shocked Her, "i've Been In Love With You For Ten Years, So I Thought It Seemed Like The Time To Find Out Whether You Felt The Same About Me. Which, I Guess You Don't.

That Does It," Said Jace. "i'm Going To Get You A Dictionary For Christmas This Year." "why?" Isabelle Said. "so You Can Look Up 'fun.' I'm Not Sure You Know What It Means.

She Felt As If She Bled Her Regret And Loneliness From Her Very Pores, And Yet She Could Not Shape Those Feelings Into Any Sentiment She Could Imagine Her Parents Could Bear Reading.

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?

Something Snapped Inside Maryse. “he Is Not A Herondale. He Is A Lightwood. Jace Lightwood. He’s My Son.