Cassandra Clare · 276 pages
Rating: (2.6K votes)
“Father . . . ," Gabriel began. "Father is a worm."
Will gave a short laugh. He was in gear as if he had just come from the practice room, and his hair curled damply against his temples. He was not looking at Tessa, but she had grown used to that. Will hardly ever looked at her unless he had to. "It's good to see you've come round to our view of things, Gabriel, but this is an unusual way of announcing it."
Gideon shot Will a reproachful look before turning back to his brother. "What do you mean, Gabriel? What did Father do?"
Gabriel shook his head. "He's a worm," he said again, tonelessly.
"I know. He has brought shame on the name of Lightwood, and lied to both of us. He shamed and destroyed our mother. But we need not be like him."
Gabriel pulled away from his brother's grip, his teeth suddenly flashing in an angry scowl. "You're not listening to me," he said. "He's a worm. A worm. A bloody great serpentlike thing. Since Mortmain stopped sending the medicine, he's been getting worse. Changing. Those sores upon his arms, they started to cover him. His hands, his neck, h-his face . . ." Gabriel's green eyes sought Will. "It was the pox, wasn't it? You know all about it, don't you? Aren't you some sort of expert?"
"Well, you needn't act as if I invented it," said Will. "Just because I believed it existed. There are accounts of it—old stories in the library—”
“Wherever we are, we are as one”
“Life is full of risks. Death is much simpler.”
“Jem always said that Will rushed toward the end of a mission rather than proceeding in a measured manner, and that one must look at the next step on the path ahead, rather than the destination in the distance, or one would never reach one’s goal. Will closed his eyes for a moment. He knew that Jem was right, but it was hard to remember, when the goal that he sought was the girl that he loved.”
“I am leaving, but I am living. I will not be gone from you entirely, Will. When you fight now, I will be still by you. When you walk in the world, I will be the light at your side, the ground steady under your feet, the force that drives the sword in your hand.”
“Tessa is gone, and every moment she is gone is a knife ripping me apart from the inside.”
“It was Will, filling the doorway with his lanky, broad-shouldred frame. His blue eyes where thunderous. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
So much for the brief peace they had achieved the night before. "I am practicing," Cecily said. "You told me I would get no better without practice."
"Not you. Gabriel Lightworm over here." Will jerked his chin toward the other boy. "Sorry. Lightwood.”
“Pointless, needless suffering and pain? I don’t suppose it would help if I told you that was the way life is. The good suffer, the evil flourish, and all that is mortal passes away.”
“To marry a girl just to make her a widow,” said Gabriel Lightwood. “Many would say that was not a kindness.”
“Surely the Shadowhunter community must honor you and hold you in high esteem as a gentleman who has truly advanced their race. No, Henry said sadly. Mostly they wish that I would stop suggesting new inventions and cease setting fire to things.”
“It is a very strange thing, to be in love. It changes you.”
“Ave atque vale... Hail and farewell. He had never given much thought to the words before, he had never thought about why they were not just a farewell but also a greeting. Every meeting led to a parting, and so it would, as long as it was mortal. In every meeting there was some of the sorrow of parting, but in every parting there was some joy of the meeting as well.
He would not forget the joy.”
“You would make a very ugly woman"
"I would not. I would be stunning”
“Eres como yo. Dices las cosas que pienso pero nunca digo en voz alta. Lees los libros que leo. Amas la poesía que yo amo. Me haces reír con tus canciones ridículas y la forma en que lo ves todo. Siento como si pudieras mirar dentro de mí y ver todos los lugares en los que soy extraña o inusual y adaptas tu corazón alrededor de ellos porque eres extraño e inusual de la misma forma. Somos lo mismo.”
“Through many waters borne, brother, I am come to thy sad grave, that I may give these last gifts to the dead. Forever and ever, brother, hail. Forever and ever, farewell.”
“Woolsey quirked an eyebrow. “You are a funny thing,” he said. “I would say I could see what those boys see in you, but …” He shrugged. His yellow dressing gown had a long, bloody tear in it now. “Women are not something I have ever understood.”
“What about them do you find mysterious, sir?”
“The point of them, mainly.”
“Well, you must have had a mother,” said Tessa.
“Someone whelped me, yes,” said Woolsey without much enthusiasm. “I remember her little.”
“Perhaps, but you would not exist without a woman, would you? However little use you may find us, we are cleverer and more determined and more patient than men. Men may be stronger, but it is women who endure.”
“Is that what you are doing? Enduring? Surely an engaged woman should be happier.” His light eyes raked her. “A heart divided against itself cannot stand, as they say. You love them both, and it tears you apart.”
“House,” said Tessa.
He raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”
“A house divided against itself cannot stand. Not a heart. Perhaps you should not attempt quotations if you cannot get them correct.”
“We were once getting married. And I have loved you all this time- a century and a half. -Jem”
“I don't know why I ever helped you."
"You like broken things.”
“It was like I saw your soul in the notes of the music. And it was beautiful.”
“La vida es un libro, y hay miles de páginas que no hemos leído todavía.”
“I am sorry," Will said.
"No," Jem said... "Don't be ordinary like that. Don't say you're sorry.”
“There was human goodness in the world, she thought-all caught up with desires and dreams, regrets and bitterness, resentments and power, but it was there.”
“ーEscribí algo para ti, ーla corrigió con una sonrisa y comenzó a tocar.
Ella escuchó emocionada; comenzó lento, sencillo, su control sobre el arco producía un sonido armónico. La melodía la lleno tan fresca y dulce como el agua, tan esperanzadora y adorable como un amanecer. Miró a sus dedos fascinada por el movimiento tan exquisito que hacia que las notas salieran del violín. El sonido se volvió mas profundo conforme el arco se movía mas rápido, el antebrazo de Jem se desplazaba hacia adelante y atrás, su delgado cuerpo parecía difuminarse con el movimiento de su hombro. Sus dedos se deslizaban cuidadosamente arriba y abajo, el tono de la música profundizó, como nubes de tormenta reuniéndose en un horizonte brillante, un río que se convertía en torrente. Las notas se estrellaban a sus pies aumentando el sonido, el cuerpo entero de Jem parecía moverse en sintonía con los sonidos que emanaban del instrumento, a pesar de que ella sabia que sus pies se encontraban firmes en el suelo. Su corazón encontró la paz con la música, los ojos de Jem estaban cerrados, las comisuras de sus labios mostraban un gesto de dolor. Una parte de ella quería correr a sus pies, rodearlo con sus brazos; la otra otra parte no quería que se detuviera la música, el hermoso sonido de él. Era como si él hubiera tomado su arco utilizándolo como un pincel para pintar, creando un lienzo en el cual su alma se muestra claramente. Cuando las ultimas notas se alzaron más y más alto, llegando a tocar el paraíso, Tessa estuvo consciente de que su rostro estaba húmedo, pero no fue hasta que la ultima nota dejo de sonar y él bajo el violín cuando se dio que estaba llorando.”
“I would give you everything of myself. I would give you more in two weeks than most men would give you in a lifetime.”
“ー¿Te importaría si toco para ti ahora?
ーSabes que amo escucharte tocar. ーEra verdad. Ella siempre amo escucharlo hablar de su violín, pensó que así entendía un poco mas de él. Ella podía escucharlo hablar apasionadamente por horas de breas, clavijas, desplazamientos, la posición de los dedos y de la tendencia de la cuerda La a romperse- sin sentirse aburrida.”
“Fue como si viera tu alma en las notas, en la música, y fue hermoso. —Se acercó acariciando suavemente la piel de su pómulo y sus cabello con el reverso de la mano. —Vi ríos, barcos, flores, todos los colores del cielo nocturno.”
“Everyone has something they can't live without. I'll find out what it is for you, never you fear.”
“I think' she said, choosing her words with care, ; that any good impulse can be twisted into something evil.”
“You've been away from home too long if you can get lost on the way from the harbor to the palace.”
I’m surrounded by thousands of words. Maybe millions.
Cathedral. Mayonnaise. Pomegranate.
Mississippi. Neapolitan. Hippopotamus.
Silky. Terrifying. Iridescent.
Tickle. Sneeze. Wish. Worry.
Words have always swirled around me like snowflakes—each one delicate and different, each one melting untouched in my hands.
Deep within me, words pile up in huge drifts. Mountains of phrases and sentences and connected ideas. Clever expressions. Jokes. Love songs.
From the time I was really little—maybe just a few months old—words were like sweet, liquid gifts, and I drank them like lemonade. I could almost taste them. They made my jumbled thoughts and feelings have substance. My parents have always blanketed me with conversation. They chattered and babbled. They verbalized and vocalized. My father sang to me. My mother whispered her strength into my ear.
Every word my parents spoke to me or about me I absorbed and kept and remembered. All of them.
I have no idea how I untangled the complicated process of words and thought, but it happened quickly and naturally. By the time I was two, all my memories had words, and all my words had meanings.
But only in my head.
I have never spoken one single word. I am almost eleven years old.”
“you ever been trapped in a world where you're everyone's worst nightmare?”
“After a while the Senior Wrangler said, "Do you know, I read the other day that every atom in your body is changed every seven years? New ones keep getting attached and old ones keep on dropping off. It goes on all the time. Marvelous, really."
The Senior Wrangler could do to a conversation what it takes quite thick treacle to do to the pedals of a precision watch.
"Yes? What happens to the old ones?" said Ridcully, interested despite himself.
"Dunno. They just float around in the air, I suppose, until they get attached to someone else."
The Archchancellor looked affronted.
"What, even wizards?"
"Oh, yes. Everyone. It's part of the miracle of existence."
"Is it? Sounds like bad hygiene to me," said the Archchancellor. "I suppose there's no way of stopping it?"
"I shouldn't think so," said the Senior Wrangler, doubtfully. "I don't think you're supposed to stop miracles of existence."
"But that means everythin' is made up of everythin' else," said Ridcully.
"Yes. Isn't it amazing?”
“How long have you been drawing me?”
He sighted. A moment later his hand came to rest in her hair. His fingers twined in the strands. “My whole life.”
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