Life is a book, and there are a thousand pages I have not read. I would read them together with you, as many as I can, before I die -" She put her hand against his chest, just over his heart, and felt its beat against her palm, a unique time signature that was all its own. "I only wish you would not speak of dying," she said. "But even for that, yes, I know how you are with your words, and, Will- I love all of them. Every word you say. The silly ones, the mad ones, the beautiful ones, and the ones that are only for me. I love them, and I love you.

Life was an uncertain thing, and there were some moments one wished to remember, to imprint upon one's mind that the memory might be taken out later, like a flower pressed between the pages of a book, and admired and recollected anew. - Sophie and Gideon Lightwood

Jocelyn recognized reading as a sacred pastime and usually wouldn't interrupt Clary in the middle of a book, even to yell at her.

You know that feeling,” she said, “when you are reading a book, and you know that it is going to be a tragedy; you can feel the cold and darkness coming, see the net drawing tight around the characters who live and breathe on the pages. But you are tied to the story as if being dragged behind a carriage and you cannot let go or turn the course aside.” His blue eyes were dark with understanding — of course Will would understand.

Will!" Charlotte threw up her hands. "Why didn't you say so?" "You know, the books on demon pox are in the library," Will said with an injured tone. "I wasn't preventing anyone from reading them

And maybe it would have bitten you in half," said Will. "What you are describing, the transformation into a demon, is the last stage of the pox." "Will!" Charlotte threw up her hands. "Why didn't you say so?" "You know, the books on demon pox are in the library," Will said with an injured tone. "I wasn't preventing anyone from reading them." "Yes, but if Benedict was going to turn into an enormous serpent, you'd think you could at least have mentioned it," said Charlotte. "As a matter of general interest.

Will bounded up onto one of the ladders and yanked a book off the shelf. "I'll find you something else to read. Catch." He had let it fall without looking and Tessa had to dart forward to seize it before it hit the floor. - Clockwork Angel

I adore Wilkie Collins,” Tessa cried. “Oh—Armadale! And The Woman in White … Are you laughing at me?” “Not at you,” said Will, grinning, “more because of you. I’ve never seen anyone get so excited over books before. You’d think they were diamonds.” “Well, they are, aren’t they? Isn’t there anything you love like that? And don’t say ‘spats’ or ‘lawn tennis’ or something silly.” “Good Lord,” he said with mock horror, “it’s like she knows me already.

She threw the door open. The room seemed to be a sort of library, the walls lined with books. It was brightly lit, light streaming through a tall picture window. In the middle of the room stood Jace. He wasn't alone, though-not by a long shot. There was a dark-haired girl with him, a girl Clary had never seen before, and the two of them were locked together in a passionate embrace

I've never seen anyone get so excited over books before. You'd think they were diamonds.

Every book is different with it's own personality just like children.

Write what you want to read. So many people think they need to write a particular kind of book, or imitate a successful style, in order to be published. I've known people who felt they had to model their book on existing blockbusters, or write in a genre that's supposed to be "hot right now" in order to get agents and publishers interested. But if you're writing in a genre you don't like, or modeling yourself on a book you don't respect, it'll show through. You're your first, most important reader, so write the book that reader really wants to read.

I was the quiet kid in the corner, reading a book. In elementary school, I read so much and so often during class that I was actually forbidden from reading books during school hours by my teachers.

When somebody tells you there's something wrong with your book they're almost always right, when they tell you how to fix it they're almost always wrong.

I thought... that we could at least talk about books.

We live and breathe words. It was books that kept me from taking my own life after I thought I could never love anyone, never be loved again. It was books that made me feel that perhaps I was not completely alone. They could be honest with me, and I with them.

It was books that made me feel that perhaps I was not completely alone. They could be honest with me, and I with them.

I love reading epic fantasies and big fat books and so I really wanted to write one. I think you always write what you want to read.

A good adaptation of your book is worth it because it is such a wonderful experience to see your world translated onto the screen.

I like to listen to music that fits with what I'm writing. For each book, I've assembled a playlist, so readers can get a sense of what I was listening to while I was writing.

Whenever I see interesting names, I jot them down. I've found them in lots of different places: on the news, in the phone book, even on hotel registry lists.

I am drawn to writing books about magic and the supernatural because those are the types of books I like to read. I've written many short stories with realistic settings, and I certainly wouldn't rule out realistic novels in the future!

I like in books when we start the book and you really don't know how it's going to turn out.

For me my big dream that I would like to achieve is for each book to be better than the books that came before, to continue to improve and to become better as a writer and hopefully to have a long career .

For such a long time, when you're a writer, you really are just writing for yourself, and maybe a few friends. So it's really amazing when your book gets out there and more people are reading and responding to it. It really makes the world of the books feel real.

Only the very weak-minded refuse to be influenced by literature and poetry.

Life is a book and there are a thousand pages I have not yet read.

People who know and love the same books as you, have the road map to your soul.

One must always be careful of books," said Tessa, "and what is inside them, for words have the power to change us.

I always wanted to be a writer since I was around 12 years old and I wrote my first book.

How can you tell? That I like books, I mean. The look on your face when you walked in, somehow I doubted you were that impressed by me.

The girl behind the scrawled letters. I loved you from the moment I read them. I love you still.” - Will Herondale

Tessa: "A little girl robbed you?" Will: "Actually, she wasn't a little girl at all, as it turns out, but a midget in a dress with a penchant for violence, who goes by the name Six-Fingered Nigel." Jem:"Easy mistake to make." (later) Will: "I want to be back before dark. I have an assignation in Soho this evening with a certain attractive someone" Tessa: “Goodness, If you keep seeing Six-Fingered Nigel like this, he'll expect you to declare your intentions.

Clary didn't ask what that was. She was busy trying not to fall over. The ground was heaving up and down under her feet. "Jace," she said, and crumpled into him. He caught her as if he were used to catching fainting girls, as if he did it every day. Maybe he did.

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.

That’s why girls have boyfriends. So you have someone to take you to boring functions.

For a moment she just stared, wondering if there were another girl staying here, or if Sebastian had taken to cross-dressing.

She made a snorting noise, astonishingly human for a ghost. " I'ardly like to tell you this, Nephilim, but if you want a girl to 'ate you, there's easy enough ways of making it 'appen. You don't need my help with the poor thing." And with that, she vanished, spinning away into the mists among the graves. Will, looking after her, sighed. "Not for her," he said, under his breath, though there was no one to hear him, "for me..." and he leaned his head against the cold iron gate.

Yes, she doesn't really look like either of us, does she? Perhaps she's a girl who's fallen madly in love with me and persists in following me wherever I go." "My talent is shape-shifting, Will, not acting," said Tessa, and at that Jem laughed out loud.

He wants her in his bedroom. And not in that way — no girl has ever been in his bedroom that way. It is his private space, his sanctuary. But he wants Clary there. He wants her to see him, the reality of him, not the image he shows the world. He wants to lie down on the bed with her and have her curl into him. He wants to hold her as she breathes softly through the night; to see her as no one else sees her: vulnerable and asleep. To see her and to be seen.

That sounds almost practiced, James Carstairs. How many girls have you made swoon with that observation?" "There is only one girl I care to make swoon," he said. "The question is, does she?" She smiled at him. "She does.

Beautiful girls should know how to defend themselves against the advances of gentlemen.

I’m not unsympathetic. But do you like me? Because this being gay business doesn’t mean you can just throw yourself at any guy and it’ll be fine because he’s not a girl. There are still people you like and people you don’t.

The Sisters vanished entirely then, and Aunt Harriet was standing over Tessa, her face flushed with fever as it had been during the terrible illness that had killed her. She looked at Tessa with great sadness. "I tried," she said. "I tried to love you. But it isn't easy to love a child that isn't human in the least...." "Not human?" said an unfamiliar female voice. "Well, if she isn't human, Enoch, what is she?" The voice sharpened in impatience. "What do you mean, you don't know? Everyone's something. This girl can't be nothing at all....

Looking at her, he was in London again. He saw the gaslight and smelled the smoke and dirt and horses, the metallic tang of fog, the flowers in Kew Gardens. He saw a boy with black hair and blue eyes like Alec's. A girl with long brown curls and a serious face. In a world where everything went away from him eventually, she was one of the few remaining constants.

Theres no such thing as vampire mojo,"said Jace,rather eeirly echoing Clarys earlier comment."And I was following Clary,but then she got into a cab,and I cant follow a cab.So I doubled back and followed you instead.Mostly for something to do" "You were following Clary?"Simon echoed."Heres a hot tip : Most girls dont like being stalked

Because', she said, 'your problems are not real problems. You're dating two beautiful girls at once. Think about it. That's like...having rock-star problems.' 'Having rock-star problems may be the closest I ever get to being an actual rock star.

Here's a hot tip: Most girls don't like being stalked.

By the time Alec came back into the training room, Jace was lying on the floor, envisioning lines of dancing girls in an effort to ignore the pain in his wrists. It wasn’t working. ~pg. 317~

I can't tell them what to do!" "Why not?" the other girl demanded. "Honestly, Clary, if you don't start utilizing a bit of your natural feminine superiority, I just don't know what I'll do with you.