A Quote by Cassandra Clare

Jace wasn’t exactly prone to random fits of panic — © Cassandra Clare
Jace wasn’t exactly prone to random fits of panic
I think I'm prone to panic.
Panic is efficient. Panic is effective. Panic is the way I get things done! Panic attacks are my booster rockets!
Neurotics are anxiety prone, accident prone, and often just prone.
We have a name," said Jace. "Magnes B-" "Shut up." Alec hissed, thwacking Jace with his closed menu. Jace looked injured. "Jesus," he rubbed his arm. "What's your problem?
And I don’t see how Sebastian can be all that fond of Jace, either. He was horribly jealous of him all his life. He thought Jace was Valentine’s favorite,” added Clary. “Not to mention,” Magnus noted, “that Jace killed him. That would put anyone off.
What do you call an electorate that seems prone to acting out irrationally, is full of inchoate rage, and is constantly throwing fits and tantrums? You call it teenaged.
And the Clave wants to meet Clarissa. You know that, Jace." "The Clave can screw itself." "Jace," Maryse said, sounding genuinely parental for a change. "Language." "The Clave wants a lot of things," Jace amended. "It shouldn't necessarily get them all.
I make a project and I panic. Which is good, it can be a method. First, panic. Second, conquer panic by working. Third, find ways to solve your doubts.
The only situation which might justify panic is one in which panic is likely to help. Such a situation never arises. Though pretended panic may sometimes cause a useful diversion, real panic can never be anything other than a waste of energy.
We are becoming a nation of sissies and hypochondriacs, a self medicating society easily intimidated by pain and prone to panic. We understand almost nothing about the essential robustness of the human body or its ability to meet the challenge of illness.
We are so prone to expect to become good Christians by some sudden experience that lifts us all at once to higher ground without the gradual climb. We forget that we are to "grow in grace" and that normal growth is not a matter of fits and starts.
We shouldn’t,” protested Isabelle. “The Clave has a plan.” “The Clave has the collective intelligence of a pineapple,” said Jace. Alec blinked up at them. “Jace is right.” Isabelle turned on her brother. “What do you know? You weren’t even paying attention.” “I was,” Alec said, injured. “I said Jace was right.” “Yeah, but there’s like a 90% chance of me being right most of the time, so that’s not proof you were listening,” said Jace. “That’s just a good guess.
Chance. Stupid, dumb, blind chance. Just a part of the strange mechanism of the world, with its fits and coughs and starts and random collisions.
Jace whistled. "Raphael is really having an exceptionally bad night." -Jace, pg.283-
Ever noticed that no matter what happens in one day, it exactly fits in the newspaper?
All that existed was Jace; all she felt, hoped, breathed, wanted, and saw was Jace. Nothing else mattered.
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