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Y Quotes

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All Y Quotes

“You're grounded because you nearly gave me a panic meltdown,'' Grady told her,'' And it's not about approval. This is your life. You'll get to choose who you share it with. Anyone who wants to be special to you should have to prove that they deserve you. Not just Keefe though he'll definately have more of an uphill battle. I'd be saying the same thing if we were talking about someone else. Like... oh... I don't know. Dex? Fitz? Sophie buried her face in her hands. '' Someone please kill me now.”

“You're hardly more than skin and bones,' she said, her fingers luxurious against my scalp. 'Winter does that to poor mortals,' I said, fighting to keep the sharpness from my tone. She huffed a laugh. 'If you're wise, you'll keep your mouth shut and your ears open. It'll do you more good here than a loose tongue. And keep your wits about you- even your senses will try to betray you here.”

“You're healing through your pain. You're healing inspite of those who have misused your vulnerability. The piece of your vulnerability that they used to gain social points is the only part of you that they could ever have. The rest of the system belongs to you. And, hereon, you are in full control of its direction. Go on, and heal.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” I ask, speaking into the soft wind. “I am always here,” a deep thunderous voice responds back. I acknowledge his presence. “Why are you here?” “You know better than to let your mind wander. Don’t let your thoughts take you to a dark place. There is no reason to look back.” The voice drifts through the wind.”

“You’re here!” Isabelle danced up to them in delight, carrying a glass of fuchsia liquid, which she thrust at Clary. “Have some of this!” Clary squinted at it. “Is it going to turn me into a rodent?” “Where is the trust? I think it’s strawberry juice,” Isabelle said. “Anyways, it’s yummy. Jace?” She offered him the glass. “I am a man,” he told her, “and men do not consume pink beverages. Get thee gone, woman, and bring me something brown.” “Brown?” Isabelle made a face. “Brown is a manly color,” said Jace, and yanked on a stray lock of Isabelle’s hair with his free hand. “In fact, look – Alec is wearing it.” Alec looked mournfully down at his sweater. “It was black,” he said. “But then it faded.” “You could dress it up with a sequined headband,” Magnus suggested, offering his boyfriend something blue and sparkly. “Just a thought.” “Resist the urge, Alec.” Simon was sitting on the edge of a low wall with Maia beside him, though she appeared to be deep in conversation with Aline. “You’ll look like Olivia Newton-John in Xanadu.” “There are worse things,” Magnus observed.”

“You’re . . .” I search for the right word. It’s rare that my vocabulary fails me like this. “Organized.” His eyes crackle with light as he laughs. “Organized?” “Extremely,” I deadpan. “Not to mention thorough.” “You make me sound like a contract,” he says, amused. “And you know how I feel about a good contract,” I say. His smirk pulls higher. “Actually, I only know how you feel about a bad one, written on a damp napkin.” He lies back fully on the mattress, and I do too, leaving a healthy gap between us. “A good contract is . . .” I think for a moment. “Adorable?” Charlie supplies, teasing. “No.” “Comely?” “At bare minimum,” I say. “Charming?” “Sexy as hell,” I reply. “Irresistible. It’s a list of great traits and working compromises that watch out for all parties involved. It’s . . . satisfying, even when it’s not what you expected, because you work for it. You go back and forth until every detail is just how it needs to be.”

“You’re implying that I’m not presentable in public unless I have a full face of makeup on.” “No. I absolutely did not imply that.” “I suppose I should take three hours to curl my hair, too, right?” I make my voice tremble. I am the victim of horrendous misdeeds. “Because I’m not pretty enough the way I am? I suppose you’re embarrassed to bring me around your family unless I conform to society’s impossible beauty standards for females?” His eyes narrow. “You’re right. Your hair’s an embarrassment in its natural state and your face is so anti–female beauty that if you go out like that, I’d insist on you walking backward and ten feet away from me. I want you to go upstairs right now and paint yourself unrecognizable.” He arches his eyebrows. “Did I do that right? Are those the words you’d like to put in my mouth?” My chin drops. He lowers his gaze to a newspaper and flicks the page. He did it for dramatic effect. I know he didn’t get a chance to finish reading the article he was on. “Actually, I’d like to put an apple in your mouth and roast you on a spit,” I say. “Go ahead and wear pajamas to dinner, Naomi. You think that would bother me? You can go out dressed as Santa Claus and I wouldn’t care.” Now I genuinely am insulted. “Why wouldn’t you care?” He raises his eyes to mine. “Because I think you’re beautiful no matter what.” Ugh. That’s really low, even for him.”