(...)i Don't Know Who I Am. I

You Don't Get It, Clary. You Don't Understand What It's Like To Live Always At War, To Grow Up With Battle And Sacrifice. I Guess It's Not Your Fault. It's Just How You Were Brought Up-

Black For Hunting Through The Night For Death And Sorrow, The Color’s White Gold For A Bride In Her Wedding Gown, And Red To Call Enchantment Down.

Yes, She's Bleeding To Death Upstairs, But I Thought I'd Avoid Telling You Right Away, Because I Like To Draw The Suspense Out.

Every Memory Was Valuable; Even The Bad Ones.

What Is This?” He Went On Now, Spearing An Unfortunate Object On A Fork And Raising It To Eye Level. “this… This… Thing?” “a Parsnip?” Jem Suggested. “a Parsnip Planted In Satan’s Own Garden.” Said Will. He Glanced About. “i Don’t Suppose There’s A Dog I Could Feed It To.” “there Don’t Seem To Be Any Pets About,” Jem—who Loved All Animals, Even The Inglorious And Ill-tempered Church—observed. “probably All Poisoned By Parsnips,” Said Will.