Bitter of Tongue

Mark spoke like a poem and walked like a dance.

People could bear so much, but Simon did not know how much of the original you was left when the world had twisted you into a whole different shape.

How is Ty? There is nothing wrong with Ty, but he is different, and the Clave hates all that is different. They will try to punish him, for being who he is. They would punish a star for burning.

Have a shower, Si," George urged. "Start the day refreshed. Maybe style your hair a little. It wouldn't kill you." Simon shook his head. "There's a dead rat in the bathroom, George. I am not going in the bathroom, George." "He's not dead," George said. "He's sleeping. I'm certain of it." "Senseless optimism is how plagues get started," Simon said. "Ask the medieval peasants of Europe. Oh, wait, you can't." "Were they a jolly bunch?" George asked skeptically. "I'm sure they were much jollier before all the plague," said Simon.

He'd probably been born with abs. Some were born with abs, some achieved abs, and some - like Simon - had abs thrust upon them by cruel instructors.

What is a Shadowhunter made of, if they desert their own, if they throw away a child’s heart like rubbish left on the side of the road? Tell me, Simon Lewis, if that is what Shadowhunters are, why would I wish to be one?

There's nothing wrong with George. It is not possible to find fault with George. He's a perfect Scottish angel. He always shares the snacks that his mother sends him and he's better- looking than Jace. There, I said it. I'm not taking it back.

You know, this porridge isn't at all bad," Simon said, digging in. George nodded enthusiastically, his mouth full. Beatriz looked sad for them, and possibly sad that boys were so stupid in general. "This isn't porridge," she told them. "These are scrambled eggs." "Oh, no," George whispered faintly, his mouth still full, his voice terribly sad. "Oh no.

Good morning, Si! I saw a rat in the bathroom, but he was taking a nice nap and we didn’t bother each other.

He had wanted to go to the Academy and become a Shadowhunter, to learn more about his own life and remember everything he had lost, to become someone stronger and better. Except that you did not become someone stronger and better by only thinking about yourself.

Beauty can be like that. Beauty cannot be trusted. Beauty can slip through your fingers like water and burn on your tongue like poison. Beauty can be the shining wall that keeps you from all you love.

All that is good, and true, is lost.

That could be made into a sad song, Simon supposed. 'If they are eggs, why are they gray? Who can say, who can say?' Admittedly, "Why Are the Eggs So Gray?" might not be a big hit, even on the hipster circuit.

Feel this arm,” said Simon. “Rock hard! I don’t mean to brag, but it’s all bone. All bone.

looking behind causes nothing but broken spells and wasted pain

Fortunate is the one who knows the name of their heart. They are the ones whose hearts are never truly lost. They can always call their heart back home

Everything is going to change for the Shadowhunters, Simon thought. For all of us. It has to.

Fortunate are the ones who know the name of their heart. They are the ones whose hearts are never truly lost. They can always call their heart back home

He always shares the snacks that his mother sends him, and he’s better-looking than Jace. There, I said it. I’m not taking it back.” “I