“I hate it when you answer a question with a question.""No you don't, you think it's charming.”

“Dear God, woman,"said Will. "Are there any questions you don't want to know the answer to?”

“I don't hate you, Jace.""I don't hate you, either."She looked up at him, relieved. "I'm glad to hear that—""I wish I could hate you," he said. His voice was light, his mouth curved in an unconcerned half smile, his eyes sick with misery. "I want to hate you. I try to hate you. It would be so much easier if I did hate you. Sometimes I think I do hate you and then I see you and I—"Her hands had grown numb with their grip on the blanket. "And you what?""What do you think?" Jace shook his head. "Why should I tell you everythingabout how I feel when you never tell me anything? It's like banging my head on awall, except at least if I were banging my head on a wall, I'd be able to make myself stop."Clary's lips were trembling so violently that she found it hard to speak. "Do you think it's easy for me?" she demanded.”

“You ask a lot of questions, don't you?" "My brother always says curiosity is my besetting sin.”

“She hated that little voice inside her head. Like the Seelie Queen, it planted doubts where there shouldn't be doubts, asked questions that had no answer.”

“Despite the heat in her face, it felt as if cold needles of ice were running up and down her veins. "What are you doing here?"He drew back slightly, looking disappointed. "That isn't really an answer to my question, you know. I was expecting more of a "Hallelujah Chorus.' I mean, it's not every day your boyfriend comes back from the dead.""I already knew you weren't dead." She spoke through numb lips. "I saw you in the library. With--""Colonel Mustard?""Sebastian.”

“Simon?" she asked. "I have a stupid question.""What is it?""Did you sleep with Isabelle?"Simon made a choking sound. Clary swiveled slowly around to look at him."Are you okay?" she asked."I think so," he said, recovering his poise with apparent effort. "Are you serious?""Well, you were gone all night.”