A Quote by Cassandra Clare

Mom. I have something to tell you. I’m undead. Now, I know you may have some preconceived notions about the undead. I know you may not be comfortable with the idea of me being undead. But I’m here to tell you that undead are just like you and me … well, okay. Possibly more like me than you.
... but it is attitude, not years, that condemns one to the ranks of the Undead, or else proffers salvation. In the domain of the young there dwells many an Undead soul. They rush about so, their inner putrefaction is concealed for a few decades, that is all.
Where did you find that one?" "I have no idea. I'm a magnet for crazies, I guess." "They must be able to sense a kindred spirit." "Your one to talk. Don't you have more hordes of the undead to lead in a glorious revolution?" "Zombies not undead. There's a fine distinction. And no. Right now I'm scouting new talent. The glorious revolution comes tomorrow.
Tod laughed. He was always able to find the humour in even the creepiest situations. I'd thought that it was an undead thing, until I became a member of the undead. Then I realized it was a Tod-thing.
Yeah, okay. You're right. I was having dinner with Zombie Carl the other night. You know, steak, rare, and a bottle of vintage type A. He told me all his secrets, but too bad for you I promised him I wouldn't tell. In exchange I asked him to gather his best undead buddies and stalk me through my friend's yard. And oh, yeah, it was totally fine if they wanted to use me as an all-night-dinner buffet, because having organs is SO last year.
You can't allow everybody in London to know that the undead exist.
If 180 million people want to be undead, that’s their funeral, but I happen to like being alive.
He was like an undead boomerang. A zomberang.
I like not being dead. Anything beyond that is just icing on the cake.My undead cake of livingness.
There's a ghost in this house! An unquiet spirit!" Unquiet spirit?" Shane said under his breath. "Is that politically correct for pissed off? You know, like Undead American or something?
A word of advice, if I may? Explosions are an excellent way to kill the undead. But you should probably take a few steps back first, kid.
As you get older, you recognize the erotic nature of the vampire and the idea of the undead.
Emma and I had both died twice, and for me, that second one actually stuck. Now I was a "resurrected American," better known, in colloquial terms, as life-challenged. Or undead. Or the living dead. But I'm not a zombie. I'm just a little less alive than your average high school junior.
I doubt you’ve ever been forced to nonstop bang a woman hyped up on the undead voodoo version of Spanish fly, have you?” His chuckle was soft. “Can’t say that I have, Kitten.” “Yeah, well, consider me an original.” This time, when his lips brushed across my skin, it lasted more than a moment. “I always have.
Hollywood is the only place on earth that has more vampires, more undead, more resurrections than a month of Easter Sundays.
I'm not good in all emergencies. The frustration of an unopenable jar of jam can tip me over the edge, but at least I could use it adequately to cave in the heads of the undead.
She snuggled back under the blanket with me, turned toward me so that she could rest her head on my chest. “I hear your heart,” she said. “Do you check every once in a while, just to make sure I’m not undead?
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