“I dont know," said Simon, "it doesn't sound so bad to me. I'd rather have someone mess around inside my head than chop it off.""Then you're a bigger idiot than you look.”

“Maybe I could love you someday."If you ever do," he said, "come and let me know. You know where to find me."Her teeth were chattering harder. "I can't lose you, Simon. I can't."You never will. I'm not leaving you. But I'd rather have what we have, which is real and true and important, than have you pretend anything else. When I'm with you, I want to know I'm with the real you, the real Clary."She leaned her head against his, closing her eyes. He still felt like Simon, despite everything; still smelled like him, like his laundry soap. "Maybe I don't know who that is."But I do.”

“I wouldn't cut you out of my life Clary, any more than I would cut off my right hand and give it to someone as a Valentine's Day gift."Gross," said Clary. "Must you?"Simon grinned. "I must.”

“...trained in self-defense.' Tessa looked sideways at Jem in astonishment. 'He means me?' Jem nodded. His expression was sombre. 'I can't - I'll chop off my own foot!''If you're going to chop off anyone's foot, chop off Benedict's,' Will muttered.”

“You're staring at me," Simon said. "Why are you staring at me? Have I got something on my face?”

“So you're not going to speak tonight," Tessa said. "At all." "Not unless you instruct me to," said Will. "This evening sounds as if it might be better than I thought.”

“I can't - I'll chop off my own foot!" "If you're going to chop off anyone's foot, chop off Benedict's," Will muttered.”