“To be beautiful you had to be willowy and tall. When you were as short as Clary was, just over five feet, you were cute. Not pretty or beautiful, but cute.”

“Beautiful. He'd called her beautiful. Nobody had ever called her that before, except her mother, which didn't count. Mothers were required to think you were beautiful.”

“Were you ever actually going to leave New York, or were you just saying that to get her to finally make a move?”“Clary,” said Luke, “I am shocked that you would suggest such a thing.”

“Poor you, you have two cute girls vying for your love. Your life is hard.”

“Of course, everyone's going to freak out when you show up at school.""Freak out? Why?""Because you're so much hotter now than when you left." She shrugged. "It's true. Must be a vampire thing."Simon looked baffled. "I'm hotter now?""Sure you are. I mean, look at those two. They're both totally into you." She pointed to a few feet in front of them, where Isabelle and Maia had moved to walk side by side, their head bent together.Simon looked up ahead at the girls. Clary could almost swear he was blushing. "Are they? Sometimes they get together and whisper and stare at me. I have no idea what it's about.""Sure you don't." Clary grinned. "Poor you, you have two cute girls vying for your love. Your life is hard.”

“What would you do if you saw something nobody else could see?”The tape gun fell out of Luke’s hand, and hit the tiled hearth. He knelt to pick it up, not looking at her. “You mean if I were the only witness to a crime, that sort of thing?”“No. I mean, if there were other people around, but you were the only one who could see something. As if it were invisible to everyone but you.”He hesitated, still kneeling, the dented tape gun gripped in his hand.“I know it sounds crazy,” Clary ventured nervously, “but…”He turned around. His eyes, very blue behind the glasses, rested on her with a look of firm affection. “Clary, you’re an artist, like your mother. That means you see the world in ways that other people don’t. It’s your gift, to see the beauty and the horror in ordinary things. It doesn’t make you crazy—just different. There’s nothing wrong with being different.”

“Clary," Jace said again. "You know: short, redheaded, bad temper.”