Is That Why You Didn't

But You Hate Poetry! Yes, But You Make Me Want To Write It.

It's Not Gray," Clary Felt Compelled To Point Out. "it's Green." "if There Was Such A Thing As Terminal Literalism, You'd Have Died In Childhood," Said Jace.

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

Humans Were So Stupid. They Had Something So Precious, And They Barely Safeguarded It At All. They Threw Away Their Lives For Money, For Packets Of Powder, For A Stranger's Charming Smile.

All Knowledge Hurts.