“Simon blurted, "Can I put the dead hand in my blood?""May I put the dead hand in my blood," Adele corrected. "Yes, go ahead.”

“Ugh," he said after a few swallows. "Dead blood." Jace's eyebrows went up. " Isn't all blood dead?" "The longer the animal whose blood I'm drinking has been dead, the worse the blood tastes," Simon explained. "Fresh is better." "But you've never drunk fresh blood. Have you?" Simon raised his own eyebrows in response. "Well, aside from mine, of course," Jace said. "And I'm sure my blood is fan-tastic.”

“There is something about the state putting the power to bully into the hands of subnormal, sadistic apes that makes my blood boil.”

“I prefer my history dead. Dead history is writ in ink, the living sort in blood.”

“I was studying the football in my hands, running my fingers over the pigskin, across the letters of the brand name printed on the side.This elongated spheriod that didn't even weigh a whole pound. I was choosing this ridiculous ball of leather in my hands over my own flesh and blood. I was putting myself, my girlfriend, my scholarship--I was putting everything before this little boy that i loved more than anything in this world.-Will”

“I say if it's going to be done, let's do it. Let's not put it in the hands of fate. Let's not put it in the hands of someone who doesn't know me. I know me best. Then take a breath and go ahead.”