#dale

Nice work in there, Herondale, setting the place on fire,” Gabriel observed. “Good thing we were there to clean up after you, or the whole plan would have gone down in flames, along with the shreds of your reputation.” “Are you implying that shreds of my reputation remain intact?” Will demanded with mock horror. “Clearly I have done something wrong. Or not doing something wrong as the case may be.” He banged on the side of the carriage. “Thomas! We must away at once to the nearest brothel! I seek scandal and low companionship. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#will-herondale #observation

If no one cares for you at all, do you even really exist? ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#care

The witchlight made his skin paler, his eyes more intently blue. They were the color of the water in the North Atlantic, where the ice drifted on its blue-black surface like the snow clinging to the dark glass pane of a window. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#will-herondale #color

He wanted to make her laugh. He wanted to sit and listen to her talk about books until his ears fell off. But all these were things he could not want, because they were things he could not have, and wanting what you could not have led to misery and madness. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#misery

As the carriage whipped forward, they passed the alley she had spent so many days staring at—it was there, and then gone as they careened around a corner, nearly knocking over a costermonger pushing a donkey cart piled high with new potatoes. Tessa screamed. Will reached past her and yanked the curtain shut. "It's better if you don't look," he told her pleasantly. "He's going to kill someone. Or get us killed." "No, he won't. Thomas is an excellent driver." Tessa glared at him. "Clearly the word excellent means something else on this side of the Atlantic. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#clockwork-angel #tessa-gray #the-infernal-devices #will-herondale #excellence

There's plenty of sense in nonsense sometimes, if you wish to look for it. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#wishes

They say time heals all wounds, but that presumes the source of the grief is finite ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#healing #magnus-bane #time #will-herondale #grief

Will: 'Singing the praises of our fair city? We treat you well here, don't we, James? I doubt I'd have that kind of luck in Shanghai. What do you call us there again?' Jem: 'Yang guizi ... foreign devils. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#chinese #colonialism #foreign #foreign-devils #invasion

–Entonces estás muriendo por amor, –dijo Will finalmente, su voz sonaba estrangulada a sus propios oídos. –Muriendo un poco más rápido por amor. Y hay cosas peores por las que morir. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#spanish #will-herondale #spanish

Sometimes the only choice is between acceptance and madness. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#madness