Jace Wayland Quotes

Jace Wayland Quotes:
"Just because you call an electric eel a rubber duck doesn't make it a rubber duck, does it? And God help the poor bastard who decides they want to take a bath with the duckie."

"Haven't you ever heard that modesty is an attractive trait?"
"Only from ugly people," Jace confided. "The meek may inherit the earth, but at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me."

'Clary stopped dead in her tracks. "Simon?"
"Oh, God," said Jace, sounding resigned. "And here I'd actually hoped I'd got hold of something interesting."

Isabelle ignored him. "JACE WAYLAND," she said. "Explain yourself."
Jace was glaring at the cat. "I told you to bring me to Alec! Backstabbing Judas."

"If you know how to cook maybe I would eat," Jace muttered.
Isabelle froze, her spoon poised dangerously. "What did you say?"
Jace edged towards the fridge. "I said I'm going to look for a snack to eat."
"That's what I thought you said."

She shrugged. "All right. Are you going to come back? Do you want any soup?"
"No," said Jace.
"Do you think Hodge will want any soup?"
"No one wants any soup."
"I want some soup," Simon said.
"No, you don't," said Jace. "You just want to sleep with Isabelle."
Simon was appalled. "That is not true."
"How flattering," Isabelle murmured into the soup but she was smirking.
"Oh, yes it is," said Jace. "Go ahead and ask her—then she can turn you down and the rest of us can get on with our lives while you fester in miserable humiliation." He snapped his fingers. "Hurry up, mundie boy, we've got work to do."

He stood up. "One of the Silent Brothers is here to see you. Hodge sent me to wake you up. Actually, he offered to wake you up himself, but since it's five a.m. I figured you'd be less cranky if you had something nice to look at."
"Meaning you?"
"What else?"

"What does it mean?"
Jace's grin was a white flash in the darkness. "It means 'Shadowhunters: Looking Better in Black Than the Widows of our Enemies Since 1234."

Jace looked wounded. "A diary with no drawings of me in it? Where are the torrid fantasies? The romance novel covers? The—"
"Do all the girls you meet fall in love with you?" Clary asked quietly.

"The boy never cried again and he never forgot what he'd learned: That to love is to destroy, and that to be loved, is to be the one destroyed."

Even half in demon hunter clothes, Clary thought, Simon looked like the sort of boy who'd come over your house to pick you up for a date and be polite to your parents and nice to your pets. Jace, on the other hand, looked like the sort of boy who'd come over to your house and burn it down for kicks.

The rat, huddled in the hollow of her palms, squeaked glumly. Delighted, she hugged him to her chest. "Oh, poor baby," she crooned almost as if he really were a pet. "Poor Simon, it'll be fine, I promise—"
"I wouldn't feel too sorry for him," Jace said. "That's probably the closest he's ever gotten to second base."

"No. My eyes are usually described as golden," Jace told the intercom. "And luminous."

"Simon's not dim-witted," Clary protested angrily.
"It's true," Jace agreed. "He just looks dim-witted. Really his intelligence is quite average."

"A door, eh? Well does it open?"
She grabbed for the knob and turned to him, crestfallen. "It's locked. Or stuck."
Jace threw himself against the door. It didn't budge. He cursed. "My shoulder will never be the same. I expect you to nurse me back to health."
"Just break the door down, will you?"

"No. I have a high pain threshold. In fact, it's less of a threshold and more of a large and tastefully decorated foyer. But I do easily get bored." He squinted at her." Do you remember back at the hotel when you promised that if we lived you'd get dressed up in a nurse's outfit and give me a sponge bath?"
"Actually I think you misheard," Clary said. "It was Simon who promised you the sponge bath."
Jace looked involuntarily over at Simon, who smiled at him widely. "As soon as I'm back on my feet handsome."
"I knew we should have left you a rat," said Jace.

"In the future, Clarissa," he said, "it might be wise to mention that you already have a man in your bed to avoid such tedious situations."
"You invited him into bed?" Simon demanded looking shaken.
"Ridiculous isn't it?" said Jace. "We would never have all fit."
"I didn't invited him into bed," Clary snapped. "We were just kissing."
"Just kissing?" Jace's tone mocked her with its false hurt. "How swiftly you dismiss our love."

"Don't tell me," he said, drawing his words out in that way he knew she hated. "Simon's turned himself into an ocelot and you want me to do something about it before Isabelle makes him into a stole. Well you'll have to wait till tomorrow. I'm out of commission." He pointed at himself—he was wearing blue pajamas with a hole in the sleeve. "Look. Jammies."
Clary seemed barley to have heard him. He realized she was clutching something in her hands—her sketchpad. "Jace," she said. "This is important."
"Don't tell me," he said, "You've got a drawing emergency. You need a nude model. Well, I'm not in the mood. You could ask Hodge," he added as an afterthought. "I hear he'll do anything for a—"
"JACE!" she interrupted him, her voice rising to a scream. "JUST SHUT UP FOR A SECOND AND LISTEN, WILL YOU?"
"Oh, it's big enough," he said patronizingly, "but somehow I was expecting something…you know." He gestured with his hands, indicating something roughly the size of a house cat.
"It's the Mortal Cup, Jace, not the Mortal Toilet Bowl," said Isabelle.

COA

"I see," said Jace. "I'll just have them change the entry in the demonology textbook from 'almost extinct' to 'not extinct enough for Alec. He prefers his monsters really, really extinct.' Will that make you happy?"

Before anyone else could move, Bat flung himself at the Shadowhunter—but the boy was gone. Bat stumbled and whirled around, staring. The pack gasped. Maia's mouth dropped open. The Shadowhunter boy was standing on the bar, feet planted wide apart. He really did look like an avenging angel getting ready to dispatch divine justice from on high, as Shadowhunters were ment to do. Then he reached out a hand and curled his fingers towards himself quickly, a gesture familiar to her from the playground as Come and get me—and the pack rushed at him.

She turned back to Jace. "Do you have to be so--," she began, but stopped when she saw his face. It looked stripped down, oddly vulnerable.
"Unpleasant?" he finished for her, "Only on days when my adoptive mother tosses me out of the house with instructions never to darken her door again. Usually, I'm remarkably good-natured. Try me on any day that doesn't end in y."

"No, you can't, "Clary said. "I ought to know, Jace, I was one of them. You're too young for any job you'd want and besides, the skills you have—well, most professional killers are older than you. And they're criminals."
"I'm not a killer."
"If you lived in the mundane world," said Luke," that's all you'd be."

Luke looked startled. "Jace—I've lived here fifteen years and I've never gone to the Institute. Not once. I doubt Maryse is any fonder of me—"
"Please," Jace said, and though his voice was flat and he spoke quietly, Clary could almost feel, like a palpable thing , the pride he'd had to fight down to say that single word.

"Enormous?" said Jace. "Did you just call me fat?"
"It was an analogy."
"I am not fat."

"Yes," Jace said unable to help himself, "I was trained to be an evil mastermind from a young age. Pulling wings off flies, poisoning the earth's water supply—I was covering that stuff in kindergarten. I guess we're all just lucky my father faked his own death before he got to the raping and pillaging part of my education, or no one would be safe."

"How awfully convenient for you, regardless. And for him. He won't have to worry about you spilling his secrets."
"Yeah," Jace said," he's terrified I'll tell everyone that he's always really wanted to be a ballerina."


Clary sensed the mood in the room was deteriorating. "That's enough," she said. She looked at Jace, who had lowered his arm and was blinking resentfully into the light. "We need to talk," she said. "All of us. About what we're going to do now."
"I was going to watch Project Runway," said Jace. "It's on next."

Alec looked surprised to be asked. "There was a Downworlder murder in Central Park last night. A faerie child was killed. The body drained of blood."
"I bet the Inquisitor thinks I did that too," said Jace. "My reign of terror continues."

Jace slammed his hand down on the stele. "Clary—"
"She said she doesn't want it," said Simon. "Ha-ha."
"Ha-ha?" Jace looked incredulous. "That's your comeback?"

"Well, I'm not kissing the mundane," said Jace. "I'd rather stay down here and rot."
"Forever?" said Simon. "Forever's and awfully long time."
Jace raised his eyebrows. "I knew it," he said. "You want to kiss me, don't you?"
Simon threw up his hands in exasperation. "Of course not. But if—"
"I guess it's true what they say," observed Jace. "There are no straight men in the trenches."
"That's atheists, jackass," said Simon furiously," There are no atheists in the trenches."


"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, you know. Jace reminds me of an old boyfriend. Some guys look at you like they want sex. Jace looks at you like you've already had sex, it was great, and now you're just friends—even though you want more. Drives girls crazy. You know what I mean?"

Luke stood up. "No," he said. "Jace, you already behave as if you've never heard the word 'fear.' I fail to see how we're going to be able to tell the difference if it does work on you."
Alec stifled what sounded like a laugh. Jace simply smiled a tight, unfriendly smile. "I've heard the word 'fear'," he said. "I simply choose to believe it doesn't apply to me."

"Admiring yourself?" The Inquisitor's voice cut through his reverie. "You won't look so pretty when the Clave gets through with you."
"You do seem obsessed with my looks." Jace turned away from the mirror with some relief. "Could it be that all this is because you're attracted to me?"

"You don't know my father. He'll laugh in your face and offer you some money to mail my body back to Idris."
"Don't be absurd—"
"You're right," Jace said. "Come to think of it, he'll probably make you pay for the shipping charges yourself."

"What are these things?" Clary panted, swinging Abrariel in a wide arc that slashed across the chest of a flying demon. It cawed and swiped at her with a wing. This close, she could see that the wings ended in blade –sharp ridges of bone. This one caught the sleeve of Jace's jacket and tore it across.
"My jacket," said Jace in rage, and stabbed down at the thing as it rose, piercing its back. It shrieked and disappeared.
"I loved that jacket."

CoG

"Because," he said, and this time he sounded even colder, "To her you're Jocelyn's daughter. But I'll always be Valentine's son."

"It doesn't hurt."
"But my eyes do," said a coolly amused voice from the doorway. Jace. He had come in so quietly that even Simon hadn't heard him; closing the door behind him, he grinned as Isabelle pulled Simon's shirt down. "Molesting the vampire while he's too weak to fight back, Iz?" he asked. "I'm pretty sure that violates at least one of the Accords."
"I'm just showing him where he got stabbed," Isabelle protested but she scooted back to her chair with a certain amount of haste.

"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."

"They would have killed us both. I couldn't even tell how many of them there were, not with the hellmist. Even I can't fight off a hundred Forsaken."
"And yet," Simon said, "I bet it pains you to admit that."
"You're an ass," Jace said, without inflection, "even for a Downworlder. I saved your life and I broke the Law to do it. Not for the first time, I might add. You could show a little gratitude."
"Gratitude?" Simon felt his fingers curl into his palms. "If you hadn't dragged me to the Institute, I wouldn't be here. I never agreed to this."
"You did," said Jace, "when you said you'd do anything for Clary. This is anything."

"Romanian? That's impressive," said Jace. "Not many people speak it."
"Do you?" Sebastian asked with some interest.
"Not really," Jace said with a smile so disarming Simon knew he was lying. "My Romanian is pretty much limited to useful phrases like, 'Are these snakes poisonous' and 'But you look much too young to be a police officer."

"You didn't get it wrong," Isabelle said impatiently. "Jace likes to pretend that everyone isn't talking about him, even when he knows they are."
"They certainly are." Though Jace was glaring at him, Sebastian seemed unruffled. Simon felt a sort of half-reluctant liking for the dark-haired Shadowhunter boy. It was rare to find someone who didn't react to Jace's taunts.

"That is so not your business," Jace said. "And besides, Clary is my sister. You do know that."
"I was there in the faerie court too," Simon replied. "I remember what the Seelie Queen said. The kiss the girl desires most will free her."
"I bet you remember that. Burned into your brain, is it, vampire?"

In a flutter of white dress, Isabelle darted in, shutting the door behind her. She looked at Clary and shook her head. "I told you he'd freak out," she said, "Didn't I?"
"Ah, the 'I told you so,'" Jace said, "Always a classy move."

Jace knew he was being cruel, and he barely cared. Hurting people he loved was almost as good as hurting himself when he was in this kind of mood.
"I get it," Alec said tightly. "First Clary, then your hand, now me. To hell with you, Jace."
"You don't believe me?" Jace asked. "Fine. Go ahead. Kiss me right now."
Alec stared at him in horror.
"Exactly. Despite my staggering good looks, you actually don't like me that way. And if you're blowing off Magnus, it's not because of me. It's because you're too scared to tell anyone who you really love. Love makes us liars," Jace said.

"You're not happy to see me, then?" Jace said. "I have to say, I'm surprised. I've always been told my presence brightened up any room. One might think that went doubly for dank underground cells."

"And quit baring your fangs at me. It's making me nervous."
"Good," Simon said, "If you want to know why, it's because you smell like blood."
"It's my cologne. Eau de Recent Injury." Jace raised his left hand. It was a glove of white bandages, stained across the knuckles where blood had seeped through.
Simon frowned. I thought your kind didn't get injuries. Not ones that lasted."
"I put it through a window," Jace said, "and Alec's making me heal like a mundane to teach me a lesson. There, I told you the truth. Impressed?"

"Look, vampire," Jace said. "Protect the Lightwoods if you can. But don't protect me."
Simon raised his head. "Why not?"
"I suppose," said Jace—and for a moment, as he looked down through the bars, Simon could almost imagine that he was outside, and Jace was the one inside the cell—"Because I don't deserve it."

"You came away from that thinking I was just fine?" Jace choked on something almost like a laugh. "I must be a better actor than I thought."

"I had to try. And I did." His voice was lifeless. "But God knows, I don't want anyone but you. I don't even want to want anyone but you."

He grabbed Jace by the front of his jacket. "What happened to you?"
Jace looked affronted. "What happened to me?"
Alec shook him, not lightly. "You said you were going for a walk! What kind of a walk takes six hours?"
"A long one?" Jace suggested.
"I could kill you," Alec said, releasing his grip on Jace's clothes. "I'm seriously thinking about it."

Jace shook his blond head in exasperation. "You had to make a crazy jail friend, didn't you? You couldn't just count ceiling tiles, or tame a pet mouse like normal prisoners do?"

Simon turned aside and spat into the bushes. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his face twisted into a grimace. "His blood tastes foul—like poison."
"I suppose we can add that to his list of charming qualities," said Jace.

"I'm not going to do that."
"Of course you're not," said Jace, "because you live to torture me, don't you?"
"Not everything, Jace, is about you," Clary said furiously.
"Possibly," Jace said, "but you have to admit that the majority of things are."
Clary resisted the urge to scream.

"There is no pretending," Jace said with absolute clarity, "I love you, and I will love you until I die, and if there's a life after that, I'll love you then."

"I don't mean it like that," he said. "I won't touch you, not if you don't want me to. I know it's wrong—God, it's all kinds of wrong—but I just want to lie down with you and wake up with you, just once, just one ever in my life."

"You could do that?" Luke said. "You could kill your own father?"
"Yes," Jace said, his voice as distant as an echo, "Now is this where you tell me I can't kill him because he is, after all, my father, and patricide is an unforgivable crime?"
"No. This is where I tell you that you have to be sure you're capable of it."

"When you were watching me with Valentine. Did it bother you?"
"That you seem to be dating my dad?" Jace shrugged. "You're a little young for him, to be honest."
"What?" For the first time since Jace had met him, Sebastian seemed flabbergasted.

"Get up," Sebastian said. "You have five seconds before I kill you where you are."
Jace stood as slowly as he thought he could get away with. He was still a little dizzy. Fighting for balance, he dug the heels of his boots into the soft dirt, trying to give himself some stability. "Why did you bring me out here?"
"Two reasons," Sebastian said, "One, I enjoyed knocking you out. Two, it would be bad for either of us to get blood on the floor of that cavern. Trust me. And I intend to spill plenty of your blood."

"So you thought I was soft and useless," said Jace. "I suppose it will be surprising for you then, when your soft and useless son cuts your throat."

"You're not my brother," she told him, a little breathlessly, as if, having realized she hadn't yet said them, she couldn't get the words out of her mouth fast enough. "You know that, right?"
Very slightly, though the grime and blood, Jace grinned.
"Yes," he said. "I know that."

"There," he said. "That wasn't so bad, was it, even though it wasn't forbidden?"
"I've had worse," she said with a shaky laugh.
"You know," he said, bending to brush his mouth across hers, "if it's the lack of forbidden you're worried about, you could still forbid me to do things."
"What kinds of things?"
She felt him smile against her mouth. "Things like this."

"I am a man," he told her, "and men do not consume pink beverages. Get thee gone, woman, and bring me something brown."
"Brown?" Isabelle made a face.
"Brown is a manly color," said Jace and yanked on a stray lock of Isabelle's hair with his free hand. "In fact look—Alec is wearing it."
Alec looked mournfully down at his sweater. "It was black," he said, "but then it faded."

"Clary," Jace said, breaking her out of her reverie. He tightened his arms around her, and she raised her head; the crowd was cheering as the first of the rockets went up. "Look."
She looked as the fireworks exploded in a shower of sparks—sparks that painted the clouds overhead as they fell, one by one, in streaking lines of golden fire, like angels falling from the sky.