“(After witnessing a young Indian man throwing a popped grain of some sort at a caged, humiliated mountain lion)That was it. I grabbed his throat and sank my thumb and middle finger into the joint behind his Adam’s apple. I did not want to kill him, though, not even hurt him. I just wanted to terrify him so badly that he would never, ever, ever, ever again even presume to think of throwing something at that lion.”

“What the hell was that?""Puma," he said. "Mountain lion.""I knew that was a lion." She stopped suddenly. "You didn't hurt him, did you?""Marcie, he wanted to eat you! Are you worried about his soul or something?""I just wanted him to go away," she said. "I didn't want him to go dead."-Marcie and Ian”

“Though I understand the theology behind it, the image does not bring me peace; it makes me feel sorry for the lion. It strips him of his essence, the fundamental part of his being. A lion that does not behave as a lion i snot a lion. It isn't even the lion's opposite. It's a mockery of a lion.”

“And I knew that I loved him with more than a nod. I loved him with a rush of tenderness, a lion's share. (Is that ever enough?)I wanted to survive. I had to. I never called.”

“He could think of only one reason for her to be there, though it madeno sense after what he'd said to her. Words were weapons, his father hadtaught him that, and he'd wanted to hurt Clary more than he'd ever wanted to hurt any girl. In fact, he wasn't sure he had ever wanted to hurt a girl before. Usually he just wanted them, and then wanted them to leave him alone.”

“Would he ever lighten up? Do I even want him to? In a strange way, his domineering, cavalier attitude was a bit of a turn on.”