Best 93 quotes in «simon quotes» category

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.

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.

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."

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

(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.

– 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

How can you be like this?' I whisper. 'How can you even trust me, after everything?' 'I'm not sure I do trust you,' he whispers back. He reaches out with his other hand and touches my stomach. I feel it drop to the floor. (My stomach, that is.) 'But...' He shrugs. He's rubbing my stomach, and I close my eyes-because it feels good. (So good.) And also because I want him to kiss me again.

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.

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 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.

I'm really glad you found me," my voice cracking. Simon squeezed my hand. His lips lowering to my ear, whispering, "I—" He went rigid, head lifting. "Hey, Simon," Tori said behind me. "What is she doing here?" Derek jabbed his thumb at me. "Ask her. I'm not getting any answers.

“Chloe isn’t flirting with that guy,” Simon said. “Course not.” “I mean it. She’s—” I glanced back at him. “I’m not blind. She’s only paying enough attention to him to be polite. He’s the one flirting, which is bugging her and that’s why I’m pissed off. She’s trying to eat her fries and he’s interrupting.” Simon chuckled.

I don’t want to feed on my friends’ blood.” “Why not?” Jace stepped past the fire and looked down at Simon; his expression was open and curious. “We’ve been here before, haven’t we? Last time you were starving, I gave you my blood. It was a little homoerotic, maybe, but I’m secure in my sexuality.

I got in trouble for fondling buns,” he whispered.

It's me," whispered a familiar voice. "Der—" Thwack. He stumbled, Liz behind him, a sturdy branch raised. "Liz, it's—" She hit him again, a home-run swing between the shoulders, and he went down with an oomph and an oath. She recognized the voice—or the curse—and leaned over, getting a look at him. (Liz) "Whoops." (Simon) "I'd say he deserved that, always sneaking up on people.

I knew Derek didn't lack empathy—he couldn't forget what he'd done to that kid who attacked Simon. But it was like what he held some weird list of checks and balances, and if you got on the wrong side, like Tori had, he had no problem 'kicking you on the curb,' to face whatever fate waited. "No," I said. "It isn't up for negotiation. She's not coming." "Okay." I stood and brushed off my jeans. "Come on, Tori." When Simon rose, I thought he was going to stop me. Instead, he followed me to the door. Tori caught up, and we made it into the next room before Derek jogged out, catching my arm with a wrench that yanked me off my feet. I winced and peeled off his fingers. "Wrong one." He dropped my arm quickly, realizing he'd grabbed my injured one. A long minute of silence, then, "Fine." He turned to Tori. "Three conditions. One, whatever your problem is with Chloe, get over it. Go after her again, you're gone." "Understood," Tori said. "Two, get over Simon. He's not interested." She flushed and snapped, "I think I've figured that out. And number three?" "Get over yourself."

I could use the fresh air. I think that put my brain to sleep.” She pointed at the text as if it was a piece of rotten meat. “Physics?” I said. “You must need a more advanced text.” “No, it’s just boring.” I picked the book up and double checked the title, to make sure I hadn’t misidentified the subject. “Boring?” I said. “How can physics be …?” I looked up to see she’d already left the room. Simon pointed at the text, grinned and faked a yawn. “Hold on,” I said, striding after her. “Physics is not boring. Maybe you just need me to explain it better. Chloe? Chloe!

I must have been sound asleep if I missed all that shouting," SImon said. "What shouting?" Derek said. "You mean that Chloe just told you that she followed a ghost onto a roof, and you didn't blast her all the way to Canada?

I’m going to tell myself that you’re just cranky because Chloe’s at the mall with Tori, and you weren’t allowed to go. I could point out that if you did go, you’d be even crankier, and you’d make everyone miserable. Especially me.” “You wouldn’t have to go.” “Sure I would. I’d need to run interference when Tori asked how a new shirt looked and you told her the truth.” “I’m honest. Honest is good.” “Not when it comes to girls and clothes. You need to gauge their reaction first. If they aren’t happy with it, you suggest they try something else, even if it looked fine. If they love it and it looks like hell, you say it’s not bad and hope they try something else.

I'm not going anywhere. I'm joining your little gang of baby heroes on the quest to find Superdad." Simon and Derek exchanged a look. "No," Derek said. "No? Excuse me, it was Rae who betrayed you guys. Not me. I helped Chloe." "And was it Rae who tormented her at Lyle House?" "Tormented?" A derisive snort. "I didn't—" "You did everything you could to get Chloe kicked out," Simon said. "And when that didn't work, you tried to kill her." "Kill her?" Tori's mouth hardened. "I'm not my mother. Don't you dare accuse—" "You lured her into the crawl space," Derek said. "Hit her over the head with a brick, bound and gagged her, and locked her in. Did you even check to make sure she was okay? That you hadn't cracked her skull?" Tori sputtered a protest, but from the horror in her eyes, I knew the possibility hadn't occurred to her. "Derek," I said, "I don't think—" "No she didn't think. She could have killed you with the brick, suffocated you with the gag, given you a heart attack from fright, not to mention what would have happened if you hadn't gotten out of your bindings. It only takes a couple of days to die from dehydration." "I would never have left Chloe to die. You can't accuse me of that." "No," Derek said. "Just of wanting hr locked up in a mental hospital. And why? Because you didn't like her. Because she talked to a guy you did like. Maybe you're not your mother, Tori. But what you are..." He fixed her with an icy look. "I don't want around." The expression on her face...I felt for her, whether she'd welcome my sympathy or not. "We don't trust you," Simon said, his tone softer than his brother's. "We can't have someone along that we don't trust." "What if I'm okay with it," I cut in. "If i feel safe with her..." "You don't," Derek said. "You won't kick her to the curb, though, because it's not the kind of person you are." He met Tori's gaze. "But it's the kind of person I am. Chloe won't force you to leave because she'd feel horrible if anything happened to you. Me? I don't care. You brought it on yourself.

I think Mr. Thierry wants to speak to Derek alone.” “Why? I was the one trying to start a fight.” “Now, Simon . . .” Thierry said. “I was. Derek refused, so I said, ‘Bring it on.’ ” The secretary blocked Simon as I followed Thierry into the office. As the door closed, I heard her whisper, “I think it’s very sweet, sticking up for your brother like that.” “I’m not trying to be sweet," Simon said, raising his voice so Thierry could hear. “I’m trying to be fair. But apparently no one’s interested in that.

"It's a workshop. Nothing but tools." "So why would it be locked?" I asked. "I'd love to say it's suspicious," SImon said. "But if this Banks guy had kids around, then I'm not surprised. My dad isn't exactly Mr. Handyman, but he kept a lock on his toolbox. You know parents, Paranoid." "Yeah," Derek said. "Especially after their son flattens his fingers trying to nail a drawing to the wall." "Hey, I'm not the genius who suggested it." Simon glanced at me. "Tape wouldn't hold it, and Science Guy explained that the paper was too heavy for the adhesive. So I got some nails." Derek rolled his eyes.

"It was hot at the restaurant," I said. "So I rolled up my sleeves." "What?" I pushed my left one up, showing four bruises, dark as ink spots. Simon paled. "My aunt wanted to know what happened. When I wouldn't tell her, she tricked me into admitting it was a boy. She met Derek this morning and he was rude, so she decided it had to be him. I never confirmed it. If he's in trouble, it is not my fault. I had every right to tell someone and I didn't." "Okay, okay." He rubbed his mouth, still staring at my arm. "So he grabbed your arm. That's what it looks like. Right? He just grabbed harder than he thought." "He threw me across the room." Simon's eyes widened, then he lowered his lids to hide his surprise. "But he didn't mean to. If you saw how freaked out he was last night, you'd know that." "So that makes it okay? If I lose my temper and smack you, it's all right, because I didn't mean to, didn't plan to." "You don't understand. He just—" "She's right." Derek's voice preceded him around the corner. I shrank back. I couldn't help it. As I did, a look passed through Derek's eyes. Remorse? Guilt? He blinked it away.

I like Clary," he said simply. "She always tries to do what's right, and she never lets anyone else tell her what right is. She reminds my parabatai that he wants to live. Occasionally I wish she'd take fewer mad risks, but if I hated reckless crazy-brave people, I'd hate..." "Let me guess," said Simon. "His name rhymes with Face Herringfail." Alec laughed and Simon mentally congratulated himself.

Now, do I dare ask what you guys are doing hiding out up here? Or is it going to make me jealous?" Simon was smiling as he said it, but Derek glanced away with a gruff "Course not." "So you weren't having another adventure?" Simon lowered himself on my other side, so close he brushed against me, hand resting on mine. "It sure looks like a good spot for one. Rooftop hideaway, old widow's walk. That is what that is, huh? A widow's walk?" "Yeah. And it's rotting, so stay off it," Derek said. "I did. So, adventure?" "A small one," I said. "Oh, man. I always miss them. Okay, break it to me gently.

I never arrive unannounced without something big and juicy in hand. - Simon Hunt

I'll send Ria to you. Save you sneaking up the wall.

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—

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.

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.