The Mortal Instruments

“You know, some people think Shadowhunters are just myths. Like mummies and genies.” Kyle grinned at Jace. “Can you grant wishes?”
The fact that Kyle had just called Clary cute did not seem to have endeared him to Jace, whose face had tightened alarmingly. “That depends,” he said. “Do you wish to be punched in the face?”

“But they love each other,” Clary said, appalled. “Isn’t that what love means? That you’re supposed to be there for the other person to turn to, no matter what?”
Luke looked toward the river, at the dark water moving slowly under the light of the autumn moon. “Sometimes, Clary,” he said, “love just isn’t enough.”

“It’s fascinating,” he said. “You know all these words, and they’re all English, but when you string them together into sentences, they just don’t make any sense.”

“Why are you always trying to get yourself killed?”
“It’s my job.”
“It’s a hazard of your job. At least for most Shadowhunters. For you it seems to be the purpose.”

“And she has a boyfriend. Like, really, really, really has a boyfriend. The nuclear bomb of boyfriends. Trust me on this one.”

“I can see why you like it here,” he said, making a sweeping gesture that encompassed Kyle’s collection of movie posters and science fiction books. “There’s a thin layer of nerd all over everything.”

“I did notice Jace wasn’t here, Clary. I just didn’t know if you’d want to talk about it.”
“I mean,” Clary went on doggedly, “do you think there’s something Jace could do to make you like him?”
“Yes,” Jocelyn said. “He could make you happy.”