"And when I saw him[my father] lying dead in a pool of his own blood, I knew then that I hadn't stopped believing in God. I'd just stopped believing God cared. There might be a God, Clary, and there might be not. Either way, we're on our own."
"You guessed? You must have been pretty sure, considering you could have killed me.""I was ninety percent sure.""I see,"Clary said. There must have been something in her voice, because he turned to look at her. Her hand cracked across his face, a slap that rocked him back on his heels. He put his hands on his cheek, more in surprise than pain."What the hell was that for?""The other ten percent."
"What are all these?"Clary asked."Vials of holy water, blessed knives, steel and silver blades,"Jace said, piling the weapons on the floor beside him, "electrum wire - not much use at the moment but it's always good to have spares - silver bullets, charms of protetion, crucifixes, stars of David-""Jesus,"said Clary"I doubt he'd fit.""Jace."Clary was appalled."
"Sarcasm is the last refuge of the imaginatively bankrupt."
"The meek may inherit the earth, but at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me."
"It wouldn't be my move,"Jace agreed. "First the candy and flowers, then the apology letters, then the ravenous demon hordes. In that order."