Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.
You're my heart, Magnus Bane. Stay unbroken, for me.
Magnus wondered if he would ever get used to being surprised by Alec Lightwood. He hoped not.
In other words, for something to be magic, it must be an impossible want.
“All you children playing with fire, looking surprised when the house burns down.”
You’re not destined or chosen, I wish I could tell you that you were if that would make it easier, but it’s not true. You’re in the right place at the right time, and you care enough to do what needs to be done. Sometimes that’s enough.
“Whatever you are physically,” he said, “male or female, strong or weak, ill or healthy—all those things matter less than what your heart contains. If you have the soul of a warrior, you are a warrior. Whatever the color, the shape, the design of the shade that conceals it, the flame inside the lamp remains the same. You are that flame.”
“I’ll kill him,” Emma muttered. “I’ll kill him while talking the whole time.”
"Heroes aren’t always the ones who win,” she said. “They’re the ones who lose, sometimes. But they keep fighting, they keep coming back. They don’t give up. That’s what makes them heroes."
That is one thing gods and mortals share. When we are young, we think ourselves the first to have each feeling in the world.