I’m from New Jersey. I was born in toxic sludge.

Parabatai" said Jace. "It means a pair of warriors who fight together - who are closer than brothers. Alec is more than justmy best friend.

Whither thou goest, I will go; Where thou diest, will I die And there will I be buried: The Angel do so to me, and more also, If aught but death part thee and me.

I love you. And I don't want to lose you.

Wherever we are, we are as one

Life is a book and there are a thousand pages I have not yet read.

We're not dating," Alec said again. "Oh?" Magnus said. "So you're just that friendly with everybody, is that it?

Don't bother her, don't try to talk to her, don't even look at her, or I'll fold you in half so many times you'll look like a tiny little origami werewolf.

The more you try to crush your true nature, the more it will control you. Be what you are. No one who really loves you will stop.

You endure what is unbearable, and you bear it. That is all.

Tell me you love me. Tell me you love me and will fight with me.

I'm the same way about the bookshop. You know, I walk around and I feel the whole world is in there, the most important stories of all time.

I think children want to believe that they can be heroes too.

I have fun. I always have fun. I don't really get in a hurry about anything. I just try to go with the flow and have fun, and that's how I try to play baseball.

It's not possible to be close to God without thinking about the lost. They never leave His mind.

I try to write about real women, real people - in other words flawed characters.

If a man smiles all the time, he’s probably selling something that doesn’t work.

I think, because I'm an artist, part of my job is to be a barometer, an antenna. It's in the air and it resonates with a lot of people to lighten up.

I just get an idea and then all of a sudden I've got a song.

There are two insults which no human being will endure: The assertion that he hasn't a sense of humor, and the doubly impertinent assertion that he has never known trouble.

Charyn, like Nabokov, is that most fiendish sort of writer-so seductive as to beg imitation, so singular as to make imitation impossible.