Best 93 quotes in «simon quotes» category

NYC Institute has one. I'll show you sometime if you want. It's a date. It is maybe the least romantic spot in the Institute, by the way. You'll make up for that, I'm sure. (Jeez, get a locked room on unsanctified ground, you two.)

Isabelle!" he called again. "Let down your raven hair!' "Oh my God," Clary muttered. "There was something in that blood Raphael gave you, wasn't there? I'm going to kill him.

I take back the cakes!” “You tell him,” Simon said. “Shut up, Snow.

Its your decision, Simon Lewis," said Magnus. "Remain in the existence you have, go to college, study music, get married. Live your life. Or---you can have an uncertain life of shadows and dangers. You can have the joy of reading the stories of incredible happenings, or you can be part of the story." "The choice is up to you

It's you, " I say. "I know I'm late," he says.

It faded slowly, ebbing like the tide. He rolled onto his back, staring up, his head still aching. The black clouds were beginning to roll back, showing a widening strip of blue; the Angel was gone, the lake surging under the growing light as if the water were boiling. Simon began to sit up slowly, his eyes squinted painfully against the sun. He could see someone racing down the path from the farmhouse to the lake. Someone with long black hair, and a purple jacket that flew out behind her like wings. She hit the end of the path and leaped onto the lakeside, her boots kicking up puffs of sand behind her. She reached him and threw herself sand behind her. She reached him and threw herself down, wrapping her arms around him. “Simon,” she whispered. He could feel the strong, steady beat of Isabelle’s heart. “I thought you were dead,” she went on. “I saw you fall down, and—I thought you were dead.” Simon let her hold him, propping himself up on his hands. He realized he was listing like a ship with a hole in the side, and tried not to move. He was afraid that if he did, he would fall over. “I am dead.” “ I know,” Izzy snapped. “I mean more dead than usual.

It's kinda hard to get yourself into a good three-toweler when you got the dick of death.

"Was it okay?" he asked. I smiled. "Better than okay." "So I won my pass to date two?" "You did." "Good" His face lowered toward mine and I knew what was coming. I knew it. But when his lips touched mine, I still jumped. "S-sorry, I—I" "Skittish as a cat," he murmured.

“Watching my back? Like you watched Chloe’s with those gangbangers?” “That was a mistake. I was running and I thought she was right behind me.” “Did you check?” “What?” “Did you check?” he repeated. “One glance over your shoulder to make sure she was still there?” I didn’t answer. He shook his head. “I’m not accusing you of letting that girl grab Chloe so you could get away. I’m not accusing you of seeing her in trouble and deciding to do nothing about it. I know you didn’t look back. You never thought of it.” “I was scared, okay? You want me to admit that? Fine.” “Chloe would have looked back for you.” I rolled my eyes. “Of course she would. Because Chloe is good and perfect.” “No, because she thinks of others. I would have looked back, too, if you were behind me. Even Derek would have. Why? Because we’re a team now. We need to have each other’s backs. No matter what.

I wind my fingers in his hair. It's thicker than mine, and curlier, and it shines golden in the firelight. There's a mole on his cheek that I've wanted to kiss since I was 12. I do.

Love is a state of the heart, but also, an activity. And quite an awesome one.

Next time he summons me like a half-asred squirrel demon," I said,"I'll tell him so!

We're your official search party," Tori said. Complete with bloodhound." She waved at Derek, who was brushing off his jeans. "I left a note," I said to Derek. "I told you whee I was going and what was doing." "He got it," Simon said. "Didn't matter." Derek glowered. "You think leaving a note makes it okay to do something—" "Don't say stupid," I warned. "Why not? It was stupid." Simon winced and murmured, "Ease off, bro." "That's okay," I said. "I'm used to it." I looked up at Derek. He wavered for a second, then crossed his arms, jaw setting. "It was stupid," he said. Risky and dangerous. Those guys could be out here with guns—

Will you for_me? I stared at the two hands, trying to figure out the missing word until a loud sigh came through the door. "Either the answer is no or my drawing sucks." "Hold on." I quickly dressed and opened the door. Simon was leaning against the wall. "So?" he said. "I'm having trouble with one part." I pointed to the hands. "Give," he said. "Ah." I read the note. "Will you for...forgive me? I looked up at him. "I think that's supposed to be my question." "No, you did the right thing. You realized it wasn't what you wanted, and you said no. I'm the jerk who stomped off and left you alone in the forest. I'm sorry. Really sorry." He paused. "So...are we okay?" Relief made my knees wobble. "We're okay. But I am sor—" He held up a hand to cut me off. "I can't get mad at you for confirming something I already suspected. I gave it a shot. I didn't work out. I'm not going to say I'm fine with that, but..." He shrugged. "I like you, Chloe. And it's not a girlfriend-or-nothing kind of like, so I'm hoping we can skip the we-tried-dating-and-it-blew stage and jump straight back to where we were, if you want that." "I want that."

Simon appeared at the doorway behind Tori and Derek. He waved to me and mouthed "run while you can." Not a bad idea. I snuck around them and zipped out the door to where Simon waited. Then I glanced back at Tori. "Don't worry about her," he said. "Probably the most fun she's had in days." He led me into the next room. "Sadly, I can't say the same for Derek, and as soon as he stops arguing long enough to notice you're gone—" "Hey!" Derek called. "Where are you two going?" Simon took my elbow and steered me at a jog through the house as Derek's footsteps pounded behind us.

Simon kissed me and I just stood there like someone had cut the cord between my brain and my muscles. Finally, the connection caught and I did kiss him, but awkwardly, some part of me still holding back, my gut twisting, like I was doing something wrong, making a huge mistake, and— Simon stopped. For a moment, he hovered there, face above mine, until I had to look away. "Wrong guy, huh? he said, his voice so soft I barely caught it. "Wh-what?" He eased back, and his eyes went blank, unreadable. "There's someone else," he said. Not a question. A statement. "S-someone...? A boyfriend, you mean? From before? No. Never. I wouldn't—" "Go out with me if there was. I know." He took another step back, the heat of his body fading, the chill of night air moving in. "I don't mean a guy from before, Chloe. I mean one from now." I stared at him. Now? Who else...? There was only one other guy— "D-Derek? Y-you think—" I couldn't finish. I wanted to laugh. You think I like Derek? Are you kidding? But the laugh wouldn't come, just this thundering in my ears, breath catching like I'd been smacked in the chest. "Derek and I aren't—" "No, not yet. I know." "I—I don't—" Just say it. Please let me say it. "I don't like Derek." But I didn't. Couldn't.

Patience, grasshopper," said Maia. "Good things come to those who wait." "I always thought that was 'Good things come to those who do the wave,'" said Simon. No wonder I've been confused all my life." "'Confused is a nice word for it," said Jace

She broke the seal to find the flowing, masculine script that had come to mean the world to her. Courage, my love. I need you to possess the same fire that led you from Scotland to Normandy that first day when we met. Whatever the day brings, know that I will always love you. You carry with you, my heart, my soul, my very being. Be strong for me, Kenna. Ever your knight, S Postscriptum S doesn't stand for Stryder. She laughed at that, even though her eyes were filled with tears. -Simon in a letter to Kenna

Simon rolled his eyes. “It’s a good thing we know the person who’s dating Magnus Bane,” he said. “Otherwise, I get the feeling we’d all just lie around all the time wondering what the hell to do next. Or trying to raise the money to hire him by selling lemonade or something.” Alec looked merely irritated by this comment. “The only way you could raise enough money to hire Magnus by selling lemonade is if you put meth in it.

Simon, you gave me no water to wash my feet, but this woman as washed them with her tears. You gave me no kiss, but she has not ceased to kiss my feet. Do no reproach her Simon for you did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed me for my burial.

Simon, don’t you think I’m scared of that too? You’re not the only one on that ledge. If we jump, we jump together. We fall together.

Simon, mark well my words! Wives are the devil ­ and I know!' `In truth,' Alan sighed, `I am the only wise one amongst us all.' `Art a silly lad!' Fulk rumbled, and cast him an affectionate though fiery glance. `Alan speaks sooth for once,' Simon said, and placed his finger on Margaret's indignant lips. He had her in his arms again, and like a needle to the magnet, Jeanne had drawn near to her Geoffrey. `For Alan throughout hath known that needs must I fall, and at Margot's feet.' `Ah, and he knew that I loved thee, even before I knew it myself,' Margaret cried. `Methinks he hath worked very quietly to bring about our happiness. And yet he will not seek his own.' `I observe thy folly,' he said, `and know mine own wisdom. That is happiness.' Jeanne looked at Geoffrey, and a smile passed between them, of boundless conceit. Margaret stole her hand into Simon's, smiling also. Not one of them answered Alan, and he laughed, leaning on his father's shoulder, and surveying his two friends with soft, satisfied eyes. `Are my sage words beneath contempt?' he asked. `Ay,' Simon answered simply, and looked down into Margaret's face for a long moment. A deep breath he drew, and glanced again at Alan. `Beneath contempt,' said Simon the Coldheart.

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.

Terrific," Simon said. "The psychos are on my side.

The angel was sitting by his bed when Simon Iddesleigh, sixth Viscount Iddesleigh, opened his eyes. He would've thought it a terrible dream, one of an endless succession that haunted him nightly -- or worse, that he'd not survived the beating and had made that final infinite plunge out of this world and into the flaming next. But he was almost certain hell did not smell of lavender and starch, did not feel like worn linen and down pillows, did not sound with the chirping of sparrows and the rustle of gauze curtains. And, of course, there were no angels in hell.

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 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.

Tears sprang to my eyes. I blinked them back, grabbed some tissue, and started awkwardly trying to daub leftover dye into my pale eyebrows, praying it would make a difference. Through the mirror, I saw Tori walk in. She stopped. "Oh. My. God." It would have been better if she'd laughed. Her look of horror, then something like sympathy, meant it was as bad as I thought. "I told Derek to let me pick the color," she said. "I told him." "Hey," Simon called in. "Everyone decent?" He pushed open the door, saw me and blinked. "It's Derek's fault," Tori said. "He—" "Don't, please," I said. "No more fighting." Simon still shot a glare over his shoulder as Derek pushed open the door. "What?" Derek said. He looked at me. "Huh." Tori hustled me out the door, brushing past the guys with a whispered "jerk" for Derek. "At least now you know never to go dark again," she said as we walked. "A couple years ago, I let a friend dye mine blond. It was almost as bad. My hair felt like straw and..." And so, Tori and I bonded over hair horror stories.

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.

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.”

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

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.

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

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

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

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?

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.

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?

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,

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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—