I Hate That Stuff. It Tastes Like

He Bent Down To Her; Their Mouths Met Again, And The Shock Of Sensation Was So Strong, So Overpowering, That She Shut Her Eyes Against It As If She Could Hide In The Darkness. He Murmured And Gathered Her Against Him.

Time Was Like The Rain, Glittering As It Fell, Changing The World, But Something That Could Also Be Taken For Granted. Until You Love A Mortal. Then Time Became Gold In A Miser's Hands, Every Bright Year Counted Out Carefully, Infinitely Precious, And Each One Slipping Through You Fingers. Cassandra Clare: What Really Happened In Peru

Magnus, I Wish I Had The Nerve To Wear The Kind Of Pants You Do.

That's The Van? It Looks Like A Rotting Banana." This Was Undeniable - Eric Had Painted The Van A Neon Shade Of Yellow, And It Was Blotched With Dings And Rust Like Splotches Of Decay.

There Are Some Kinds Of Wounds You Can Get, Internal Injuries. You Don't Know What's Wrong With You, But You're Bleeding To Death Slowly Inside.