Best 93 quotes in «simon quotes» category

The point is that when you're playing D&D and your group comes across a heap of treasure, or a big sparkly gem, or a magical skull, you should never take it. It's always a trap." He uncrossed his arms and waved them wildly. "This is a trap." Jace was silent. He was looking at Simon thoughtfully, as if he'd never seen him before, or at least never considered him so closely. "Come here," he said. Simon moved toward him, his eyebrows raised. "What-oof!" Jace had dropped his sword into Simon's hands. "Hold this for me while I climb," Jace said, and leaped up onto the plinth.

Then I level my smile at Simon, and this smile is one I do feel, and it’s definitely an activity, too — the activity of fist suppression.

The thing about the Mirror is that no one knows where it is. In fact, no one knows what it is.” "It’s a mirror,” Simon said. “You know – reflective, glass. I’m just assuming.

Was she cold? If he'd stayed with her last night, she wouldn't be cold.

This is how a faerie loves: with her whole body and soul. This is how a faerie loves: with destruction. This is how a faerie loves: with a gift.

The Great and Tragic Love of Jonathan Shadowhunter and David the Silent, by Clary Fray, Aged 17. SIMON IT WAS BY SIMON NOT ME (...) Jonathan Shadowhunter: Oh, David, I would trust you with my life! David: Oh, Jonathan, I would sacrifice my own life for your holy mission! (He almost does) Jonathan: (weeping) David, you must return to me! I need you! I cannot do this thing without you! David: Lo, I return! Jonathan: Zounds! I feel a great stirring in my pantaloons! David: What doth thy pantalo SIMON I WILL KILL YOU

The whole prophecy is bollocks," I say. "'And one will come to end us. And one will bring his fall.' Did I also bring my own fall?" "No," Baz says. "That was me. Obviously." "How did you bring my fall? I stopped the Humdrum myself." Baz looks back at his phone, bored. "Fell in love, didn't you?

(Tori) "In the real world, if we’re attacked by some Cabal goon, we’re going to use our fighting powers.” (Simon) “But Chloe doesn’t have fighting powers.” (Tori) “Sure she does. She has a poltergeist. Well, when Liz is around. And when she’s not, Chloe has the awesome power of zombies at her fingertips.” Tori waved at the woods behind our rented house. “Raise a dead bunny. It can nip my ankles while I’m throwing you down.”

Ugh," he said after a few swallows. "Dead blood." Jace's eyebrows went up. " Isn't all blood dead?" "The longer the animal whose blood I'm drinking has been dead, the worse the blood tastes," Simon explained. "Fresh is better." "But you've never drunk fresh blood. Have you?" Simon raised his own eyebrows in response. "Well, aside from mine, of course," Jace said. "And I'm sure my blood is fan-tastic.

Wait! I'm the one who's supposed to chase!

...we can tell our hearts exactly what to believe, but the cheeky little bastards won't listen to anyone but themselves

Whatever is happening, it is Shadowhunter business. There is a house, not far from here, that has been granted to the vampire representative of the council. We may go there." "Together?" Simon said. "It is a very large house," Raphael said. "You will be at one end of it and I at the other.

What are you looking at?" "I was thinking about becoming a lady of the night." "What?" "There's actually an ad looking for one. Can you believe it? It pays a grand a week." "Shit, for a grand a week, "I'll become a lady of the night.

Well isn't that a juicy bit of gossip I hadn't heart about? And full term. Which means she was shagging Justus with a bun in the over. So the man playing naked Twister with a prostitute is one to judge?

Westcliff turned to the black-haired man beside him. “Hunt, I would like to introduce Matthew Swift—the American I mentioned to you earlier. Swift, this is Mr. Simon Hunt.” They shook hands firmly. Hunt was five to ten years older than Matthew and looked as if he could be mean as hell in a fight. A bold, confident man who reputedly loved to skewer pretensions and upper-class affectations. “I’ve heard of your accomplishments with Consolidated Locomotive Works,” Matthew told Hunt. “There is a great deal of interest in New York regarding your merging of British craftsmanship with American manufacturing methods.” Hunt smiled sardonically. “Much as I would like to take all the credit, modesty compels me to reveal that Westcliff had something to do with it. He and his brother-in-law are my business partners.” “Obviously the combination is highly successful,” Matthew replied. Hunt turned to Westcliff. “He has a talent for flattery,” he remarked. “Can we hire him?” Westcliff’s mouth twitched with amusement. “I’m afraid my father-in-law would object. Mr. Swift’s talents are needed to built a factory and start a company office in Bristol.” Matthew decided to nudge the conversation in a different direction. “I’ve read of the recent movement in Parliament for nationalization of the British railroad industry,” he said to Westcliff. “I would be interested in hearing your thoughts on the matter, my lord.” “Good God, don’t get him started on that,” Hunt said. The subject caused a scowl to appear on Westcliff’s brow. “The last thing the public needs is for government to take control of the industry. God save us from yet more interference from politicians. The government would run the railroads as inefficiently as they do everything else. And the monopoly would stifle the industry’s ability to compete, resulting in higher taxes, not to mention—” “Not to mention,” Hunt interrupted slyly, “the fact that Westcliff and I don’t want the government cutting into our future profits.” Westcliff gave him a stern glance. “I happen to have the public’s best interest in mind.” “How fortunate,” Hunt commented, “that in this case what is best for the public also happens to be best for you.” Matthew bit back a smile. Rolling his eyes, Westcliff told Matthew, “As you can see, Mr. Hunt overlooks no opportunity to mock me.” “I mock everyone,” Hunt said. “You just happen to be the most readily available target.

Whether it’s a hospital or wherever… we can deliver to anyone with a phone book.” A phone book. Such a simple and basic answer. When the chef picked up the phone and said, “Russia Sushi, how can I help you?” did she take him literally?

Annabelle’s eyes stung as she stared at him, while need and inexhaustible tenderness gathered like an ache in her body. “I realized something,” she said huskily, “when I was standing outside the foundry, watching it burn and knowing you were inside.” She swallowed hard against the thickness in her throat. “I would rather have died in your arms, Simon, than face a lifetime without you. All those endless years… all those winters, summers… a hundred seasons of wanting you and never having you. Growing old, while you stayed eternally young in my memories.” She bit her lip and shook her head, while her eyes flooded. “I was wrong when I told you that I didn’t know where I belonged. I do. With you, Simon. Nothing matters except being with you. You’re stuck with me forever, and I’ll never listen when you tell me to go.” She managed a tremulous smile. “So you may as well stop complaining and resign yourself to it.

While he waited, he made up the bed,more to discourage Meg from falling back into it than because he wanted to tidy the room. Besides, running his hands over the sheets and breathing in her scent made him happy,

Who cares if you have a girlfriend, anyway?" "I care" Simon said gloomily. "Pretty soon the only people left without a girlfriend will be me and Wendell the school janitor. And he smells like windex.

You and I will converse while Hunt has a cigar,” Westcliff informed him. “Come with us.” The “invitation” didn’t seem to allow the possibility of a refusal, but Matthew tried nonetheless. “Thank you, my lord, but there is a certain matter I wish to discuss with someone, and I—” “That someone would be Mr. Bowman, I expect.” Hell, Matthew thought. He knows. Even if it hadn’t been for those words, he could tell by the way Westcliff was looking at him. Westcliff knew about Bowman’s intention of marrying him off to Daisy…and not surprisingly, Westcliff had an opinion about it. “You will discuss the matter with me first,” the earl continued. Matthew glanced warily at Simon Hunt, who gave him a bland look in return. “I’m certain,” Matthew said, “that Mr. Hunt doesn’t want to be bored by a discussion of someone else’s personal affairs—” “Not at all,” Hunt said cheerfully. “I love hearing about other people’s affairs. Particularly when they’re personal.

You were a Downworlder once. That will always be a part of you. Even if you forget, they never will.

You want me to be a villain: things are always easier when there's a clear villain, and I can fill the role admirably. I have before, and I probably will again. Please don't mistake villainy for evil. The two can exist side by side while remaining quite distinct. And Oleander, for all her good points - and she did have some, although they were regrettably few and far between - was evil.

And you know what? You don’t get to say it’s not a big thing. This is a big fucking thing, okay? This was supposed to be—this is mine. I’m supposed to decide when and where and who knows and how I want to say it.” Suddenly, my throat gets thick. “So, yeah, you took that from me. And then you brought Blue into it? Seriously? You fucking suck, Martin. I mean, I don’t even want to look at you.

A voice: “My goodness, Nurse Jones.” I look up, startled. Simon’s in the doorway, leaning against the frame, smiling. No doubt I’m quite the sight in my bloody, sexy nurse’s outfit, sitting on a bed next to a tied-up, taped-up target. “Oh, please.” I collect my purse, my phone and my stun gun and walk around the bed. Simon’s smile reaches deep into his dark blue eyes. He has a long face and delicate features for a man. I grab the sleeve of his black jacket and pull him into the outer room. “What the fuck are you wearing? You look insane,” he says. “This? This is the creepy outfit the Alchemist put me in after he kidnapped me.” Simon stops smiling. “Are you okay?” “Yeah.

A soft poke at my shoulder blade startled me. "Still jumpy, I see." I spun to see Simon, Derek hanging back behind him. Simon grinned, the sight as familiar as Derek's scowl. "Got my note, I hear," he said. I pulled it out and waved it. He plucked it from my fingers and tucked it into my jacket pocket.

As Simon went to see if Andrew was up, I wandered into the kitchen, where Derek was eyeing a rusty can of beans. "That hungry?" I said. "I will be soon." He prowled the kitchen, flipping open cupboards. "So you don't want me asking Andrew about that kid?" I said. "You trust him, though, right?" "Sure." He took down a box of crackers and turned it over, looking for a 'best before' date. *** "Is he drinking the ketchup yet?" Simon swung into the kitchen. "Ten minutes, bro. Andrew's on his way—

As we sat, Derek pulled a handful of energy bars from his pocket, and gave me one. "Oh, right. You must be starving." Simon reached into his pockets. "I can offer one bruised apple and one brown banana." *** "You guys are weird," Tori said. Simon sat on the crate beside me. "That's right. We are totally weird and completely uncool. Your popularity is plummeting just by being near us. So why don't you—" "Chloe?" Derek interrupted. "How's your arm?" "Her—?" Simon swore under his breath. "Way to keep showing me up. First, food. Now her arm." He turned to me. "How is it?"

A whisper of fabric as Derek dressed. Then a hand on my waist, a light touch, tentative. I turned and Derek was right there, his face above mine, hands sliding around me as I titled my face up— "What the—?" We both jumped—again. Tori stood there, staring at us, Simon behind her, grabbing her arm. "I told you not to—" Simon began. "Yeah, but you didn't say why. I sure didn't expect..." She shook her head. "Am I the last one to know everything around here?" Liz raced in. "What's going on?" "Derek's ready," I said. "We need to move."

Becoming aware of her presence in the doorway, the men looked up. Westcliff rose from his half-seated position on the desk. “My lord,” Daisy said, “if I might have a word with you?” Although she spoke calmly, something in her expression must have alerted him. He didn’t waste a second in coming to her. “Yes, Daisy?” “It’s about my sister,” she whispered. “It seems her labor has started.” She had never seen the earl look so utterly taken aback. “It’s too early,” he said. “Apparently the baby doesn’t think so.” “But…this is off-schedule.” The earl seemed genuinely baffled that his child would have failed to consult the calendar before arriving. “Not necessarily,” Daisy replied reasonably. “It’s possible the doctor misjudged the date of the baby’s birth. Ultimately it’s only a matter of guesswork.” Westcliff scowled. “I expected far more accuracy than this! It’s nearly a month before the projected…” A new thought occurred to him, and he turned skull-white. “Is the baby premature?” Although Daisy had entertained a few private concerns about that, she shook her head immediately. “Some women show more than others, some less. And my sister is very slender. I’m sure the baby is fine.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Lillian has had pains for the past four or five hours, and now they’re coming every ten minutes or so, which Annabelle says—” “She’s been in labor for hours and no one told me?” Westcliff demanded in outrage. “Well, it’s not technically labor unless the intervals between the pains are regular, and she said she didn’t want to bother you until—” Westcliff let out a curse that startled Daisy. He turned to point a commanding but unsteady finger at Simon Hunt. “Doctor,” he barked, and took off at a dead run. Simon Hunt appeared unsurprised by Westcliff’s primitive behavior. “Poor fellow,” he said with a slight smile, reaching over the desk to slide a pen back into its holder.

Backup?" Tori said. "You mean he didn't need that?" "Apparently not," I murmured. Simon looked from her to me, confused, then understanding. "You guys thought..." "That if you didn't get your medicine in the next twenty-four hours, you'd be dead?" I said. "Not exactly, but close. You know, the old 'upping the ante with a fatal disease that needs medication' twist. Apparently, it still works." "Kind of a letdown, then, huh?" "No kidding. Here we were, expecting to find you minutes from death. Look at you, not even gasping." "All right, then. Emergency medical situation, take two." He leaped to his feet, staggered, keeled over, then lifted his head weakly. "Chloe? Is that you?" He coughed. "Do you have my insulin?" I placed it in his outstretched hand. "You saved my life," he said. "How can I ever repay you?" "Undying servitude sounds good. I like my eggs scrambled." He held up a piece of fruit. "Would you settle for a bruised apple?

But you've never drunk fresh blood. Have you?" Simon raised his own eyebrows in response. "Well, aside from mine, of course," Jace said. "And I'm sure my blood is fan-tastic." Simon set the empty flask down on the arm of the chair by the bed. "There's something very wrong with you," he said. "Mentally, I mean.

But then it was over too quickly and they pulled away. She knew they couldn't stand there and kiss like a couple on the run in a thriller.

Daisy has a unique spirit,” Westcliff said. “A warm and romantic nature. If she is forced into a loveless marriage, she will be devastated. She deserves a husband who will cherish her for everything she is, and who will protect her from the harsher realities of the world. A husband who will allow her to dream.” It was surprising to hear such sentiment from Westcliff, who was universally known as a pragmatic and level-headed man. “What is your question, my lord?” Matthew asked. “Will you give me your word that you will not marry my sister-in-law?” Matthew held the earl’s cold black gaze. It would not be wise to cross a man like Westcliff, who was not accustomed to being denied. But Matthew had endured years of Thomas Bowman’s thunder and bluster, standing up to him when other men would flee in fear of his wrath. Although Bowman could be a ruthless, sarcastic bully there was nothing he respected more than a man who was willing to go toe-to-toe with him. And so it had quickly become Matthew’s lot in the company to be the bearer of bad tidings and deliver the hard truths that everyone else was afraid to give him. That had been Matthew’s training, which was why Westcliff’s attempt at domination had no effect on him. “I’m afraid not, my lord,” Matthew said politely. Simon Hunt dropped his cigar. “You won’t give me your word?” Westcliff asked in disbelief. “No.” Matthew bent swiftly to retrieve the fallen cigar and returned it to Hunt, who regarded him with a glint of warning in his eyes as if he were silently trying to prevent him from jumping off a cliff. “Why not?” Westcliff demanded. “Because you don’t want to lose your position with Bowman?” “No, he can’t afford to lose me right now.” Matthew smiled slightly in an attempt to rob the words of arrogance. “I know more about production, administration, and marketing than anyone else at Bowman’s…and I’ve earned the old man’s trust. So I won’t be dismissed even if I refuse to marry his daughter.” “Then it will be quite simple for you to put the entire matter to rest,” the earl said. “I want your word, Swift. Now.” A lesser man would have been intimidated by Westcliff’s authoritative demand. “I might consider it,” Matthew countered coolly, “if you offered the right incentive. For example, if you promise to endorse me as the head of the entire division and guarantee the position for at least, say…three years.” Westcliff gave him an incredulous glance. The tense silence was broken as Simon Hunt roared with laughter. “By God, he has brass ballocks,” he exclaimed. “Mark my words, Westcliff, I’m going to hire him for Consolidated.” “I’m not cheap,” Matthew said, which caused Hunt to laugh so hard that he nearly dropped his cigar again. Even Westcliff smiled, albeit reluctantly. “Damn it,” he muttered. “I’m not going to endorse you so readily—not with so much at stake. Not until I am convinced you’re the right man for the position.” “Then it seems we’re at an impasse.” Matthew made his expression friendly. “For now.

Clary?" he thought. Her voice came through, tinged with alarm. "What is it? What's happened? Did my mom find out I'm gone?" "Not yet," he thought back. "Is Azazel the cat from the Smurfs?" There was a long pause. "That's Azrael, Simon. And no more using the magic rings for Smurfs question.

Chloe. Always Chloe with him and his brother. I know I sound like a whiny brat when I complain, but I think I have a good reason. I’d just discovered that I was a witch and my mother was a bitch—the murderous kind. I was now on the run with three kids who didn’t want me along. No matter how hard I tried to keep up and help out, the guys only cared about Chloe. If I ran in front of this bus to push her to safety, they’d race to her side to see if she was okay. Probably give me crap for bruising her when I shoved her out of the way.

Derek stopped short. I smacked into his back—not for the first time, since he insisted on walking in front of me. I'd been tripping on his heels and mumbling apologies the whole way. When I'd slow down to let him get farther ahead, he'd snap at me to keep up. "We're almost there," Simon said. He was behind me—sticking to the curbside, walking as close as Derek. While normally I wouldn't complain about Simon being so close, I had the weird sensation of being blocked in. As we started forward again, I tried dropping back with Tori, who lagged behind, but Simon put his finger on my elbow and steered me back into place. "Okay," I said. "Something's up. What's with the walking blockade?" "They're protecting you," Tori said. "Shielding you from the big bad world."

(Derek) "No casting? No practicing?" He shook his head. "Don't tell Simon that." "Don't tell Simon what?" said a voice behind us. We turned to see Simon step out of the doorway. "That Tori doesn't need to use incantations to cast," Derek said. "Seriously?" He swore. "You're right. Don't tell me." He picked his way across the roof. "Better yet, don't tell her that I need incantations and weeks of practice, and I still suck."

Det var elskverdige og flinke Mennesker, de bedste af dem, der syslede meget net og praktisk med forskellige Ting. Men der var ikke een, der havde en Idé, hvor han stillede sig op og prøvede at rokke Jorden, ja der var vel ikke een, der følte Savnet af en saadan Idé.

Have a shower, Si," George urged. "Start the day refreshed. Maybe style your hair a little. It wouldn't kill you." Simon shook his head. "There's a dead rat in the bathroom, George. I am not going in the bathroom, George." "He's not dead," George said. "He's sleeping. I'm certain of it." "Senseless optimism is how plagues get started," Simon said. "Ask the medieval peasants of Europe. Oh, wait, you can't." "Were they a jolly bunch?" George asked skeptically. "I'm sure they were much jollier before all the plague," said Simon.

Giggler, I think I hate you most of all.

Don't waste my time with sorries, Simon. If we stop to apologize and forgive each other every time we step on each other's toes, we'll never have time to be friends.

Do you think you love that fellow?" "I don't know." She closed her eyes, but the tears overflowed nevertheless. "All I know is that he opened a door into a whole new world I never even knew existed. I've stepped through that door, and I cant return. (...) Its like being blind from birth and then one day suddenly being able to see. And not just see, but to witness the sun rising in all her glory across the azure sky. The dusky lavenders and blues lightening to pinks and reds, spreading across the horizon until the entire earth is lit. Until one has to blink and fall to ones knees in awe at the light. (...) Even if one were to be made blind again in the next instant, one would ever after remember and know what was missed. What could be.

– Ele é homem – disse Leonie. – O que foi que Byron disse sobre homens e mulheres apaixonados? (…) – “Na vida do homem, o amor é uma coisa à parte; na da mulher, é toda a vida” – citou ele.

En la justicia. En el coraje. En la defensa del débil. A la vista de los poderosos. A través de la magia, la sabiduría y el bien.

Enough, Snow, I'm not the Queen.

He didn't understand why everyone fussed about taking clean clothes out of a drawer. Underclothes smelled a lot more interesting after the female wore them.

He gently kissed that scar and felt something changing inside him - just a flutter of change, there and gone, but leaving its mark.

He swallows. Snow has the longest neck and the showiest swallow I've ever seen. His chin juts out and his Adam's apple catches - it's a whole scene.

He looks at my face and huffs, exasperated. "Baz, you're actually, literally the only thing I have to lose. So as long as doing gay stuff in public doesn't make you hate me, I don't really care." "We're just dancing," I say. "That's hardly gay stuff." "Dancing's well gay," he says. "Even when it isn't two blokes.

He's still looking in my eyes. Staring me down like he did that dragon, chin tilted and locked. "I'm not the Chosen One," he says. I meet his gaze and sneer. My arm is a steel band around his waist. "I choose you," I say. "Simon Snow, I choose you.