“Here is a handfulof shadow I have brought back to you:this decay, this hope, this mouth-ful of dirt, this poetry.”

“Back in Russia we were dirt-poor. Here in the West we are still poor but have risen above the dirt to tower alongside stalks of grass!”

“Poetry is what you findin the dirt in the corner,overhear on the bus, Godin the details, the only wayto get from here to there.”

“I didn’t know what to do for my project so I brought in a paper cup filled with dirt just hoping that she’d know I’m an idiot and just walk right on past me just as long as I was holding something. “What do you have there, Brian?” “It’s a cup of dirt. Just put an ‘F’ on it there and let me go home.” “Well, explain it.” “Well, it’s a cup with dirt in it. I call it ‘Cup of Dirt.’ You should move on now. Just go ahead and move on. Head on down the line there.”

“My mouth is full of decayed teeth and my soul of decayed ambitions.”

“You’re alive," she whispered. "Really alive."With a slow wonderment he reached to touch her face. "I was in the dark," he said softly. "There was nothing there but shadows, and I was a shadow, and I knew that I was dead, and that it was over, all of it. And then I heard your voice. I heard you say my name, and it brought me back." "Not me." Clary’s throat tightened. "The Angel brought you back." "Because you asked him to." Silently he traced the outline of her face with his fingers, as if reassuring himself that she was real. "You could have had anything else in the world, and you asked for me." She smiled up at him. Filthy as he was, covered in blood and dirt, he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. "But I don’t want anything else in the world.”