Maybe I Want A Black Eye. Did

In The End That Was The Choice You Made, And It Doesn't Matter How Hard It Was To Make It. It Matters That You Did.

If You're Really Tired, I Could Put You To Sleep," He Said. "tell You A Bedtime Story." She Looked At Him. "are You Serious?" "i'm Always Serious

I Don't Want To Be A Man," Said Jace. "i Want To Be An Angst-ridden Teenager Who Can't Confront His Own Inner Demons And Takes It Out Verbally On Other People Instead." "well," Said Luke, "you're Doing A Fantastic Job.

It Was Like The Calm Just As One Engaged In Battle, Will Thought, When Thought Fled And Inevitability Took Over.

She Opened Her Mouth To Answer, But He Was Already Kissing Her. She Had Kissed Him So Many Times—soft Gentle Kisses, Hard And Desperate Ones, Brief Brushes Of The Lips That Said Good-bye, And Kisses That Seemed To Go On For Hours—and This Was No Different. The Way The Memory Of Someone Who Had Once Lived In A House Might Linger Even After They Were Gone, Like A Sort Of Psychic Imprint, Her Body Remembered Jace. Remembered The Way He Tasted, The Slant Of His Mouth Over Hers, His Scars Under Her Fingers, The Shape Of His Body Under Her Hands.