In the airport, luggage-laden people rush hither and yon through endless corridors, like souls to each of whom the devil has furnished a different, inaccurate map of the escape route from hell.
We are currently too attached to our worldly toys, rather than to the lessons our playing could impart to further the maturity of our collective soul.
Church was doing what he often did when dropped - lying on his back with all four legs in the air, pretending to be dead in order to induce guilt in his owners.
How she still thought of Max every day and it was like someone had emptied her lungs of air, and she would catch at her heart, afraid she was dying.
She turned and looked at him. "Ducks?" she said again. A smile tugged the edge of his mouth. "I hate ducks. Don't know why. I just always have.
I stabbed you. With a massive sword. You caught on fire." His lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. "Okay, so maybe our problems aren't like other couples.
Not enough," he said, letting her hair slip through his fingers. "If I kiss you all day, everyday, for the rest of my life, it won't be enough.
With the whole Mark of Cain thing, does that mean if I accidentally kick you during the night, I get kicked in the shins seven times by an invisible force?
I was hoping they'd put up flyers like they do for lost cats," he said. "Missing, one stunningly attractive teenage boy. Answers to 'Jace' or 'Hot Stuff.
She looked at him with loathing. "I knew you were crazy," she said. "But I didn't realize you were absolutely, spectactularly out of your goddamned mind.
Once he asked me what I thought had turned me gay." "I hope you told him you were bitten by a gay spider," said Simon.
Jace laughed, that soft rich sound Clary loved so much. "I'm warning you, that jacket is sexy. The Institute could go up in sexy, sexy flames.
Even the trip throught the Portal had not disarranged Magnus's hair spikes. He tugged on one proudly. "Check it out", he said to Isabelle. "Magic?" "Hair gel. $3.99 at Ricky's.
The sun rises in the east every morning and falls in the west, Ayden. Darknesses are awaken and fate is tested, destinies are foreseen. Thy soul the only enemy, a hero is born. A new light rises once again...
If someone should ask me, 'What does the soul do?' I would say, It does two things. It loves. And it creates. Those are its primary acts.
People want to be loved; failing that admired; failing that feared; failing that hated and despised. They want to evoke some sort of sentiment. The soul shudders before oblivion and seeks connection at any price.
I could recognise his soul in mine as much as he could find me in his. Our sole existences seemed to have been for this very moment when nothing else mattered.
Love is never worthless. Never believe that your love makes no difference. Even if you can’t see its impact, the impact is there, if only in the way that it affects your own soul.
We are, all of us, crippled and twisted. Most of us strive desperately to keep our grotesqueries out of sight and mind. Our suffering is transformed by an alchemy of the soul into addiction, ulcers, strokes, hatred, even war.
Faith: a device of the mind, fed by the soul, that functions like crutches to a man in a wheelchair.
Pain laughed giddily at the thought, for love brought its own brand of torment. Lots and lots of torment. In the heart, the soul. Both causing a physical ache too intense to be relieved.
