“I love her.” “She’s dead.” “That doesn’t mean to me what it does to other people.”

“You do know what we’re dealing with here, don’t you?” I ask. “She’s not just a ghost. She’s a hurricane. Overkill is fine by me.”

“I’m not afraid. Despite the searing between my eyes andthe knowledge that something is coming for me, somethingthat could easily rip out my spleen and pop it like a waterballoon, I am not afraid. She’s with me. She’s my purposeand we’re going to save each other. We’re going to saveeveryone. And then I’m going to convince her that she’ssupposed to stay here. With me.”

“She’s no ordinary ghost, that seems certain,” he says. “I know. Something’s made her stronger.” “The way she died?” he asks. “I’m not sure. From what I’ve heard, she was just murdered like so many others. Throat slit. But now she’s haunting her old house, killing whoever steps inside, like some goddamn spider.”

“This is weird. There's a dead woman in front of me like dozens of other dead women I've seen. But this one is a queen, and a famous one. If it's possible to be starstruck by the dead, then I guess that's what's happening.”

“If you’ve been reading the Mortal Instruments for any length of time, you know that only two things are certain: Dead doesn’t necessarily mean dead, and you never know whose blood is going to wind up running through your veins.”

“She’s standing above me the goddess of death, black lips and cold hands.”