Doing Right By Others Quotes

I stood in your doorway this morning
dreaming you'd turn around
you'd tilt your head
you'd softly whisper "stay"

or that you'd grab my arms
to shake me while asking
what the hell are we doing
we love
each other
and this is not right
so we will make this work
now stay!

You poured your coffee. Stirred the spoon like a crystal man
with your back to me and not a sound. the fridge humming elegies while the clock ticked on
and the streets are so clean here people rushing to work
and maybe I should be too
by now
at this age
this stage
this town.

I will stand in that doorway
dreaming
for many nights to come. ~ Charlotte Eriksson

Fortunately for the historian, the court to which his evidence is submitted has no fixed term; interesting cases can be argued before it indefinitely. The jury can remain out for as long as it takes to gather the requisite data and come to a sound decision... the historian can watch with delight or consternation as the case is tried and retried by others, who may prove his hunches right or wrong." The Kindness of Strangers ~ John Boswell

He doesn't like Emma and Rachel making plans together. Not because he thinks they're being devious, but because he doesn't like feeling left out. Not to mention that when Emma is making plans without him, they're usually reckless. The only reason she'd keep a secret from him is if she was doing something he didn't approve of, or didn't want him to interfere with. After all, her motto is "Better to ask for forgiveness than permission."
Galen despises that motto.
"I cleared out the sporting goods store this morning," Rachel says. "I took what was on the shelf and made them cough up their stock in the back."
Galen tenses up. Emma laughs. "Don't be jealous, Highness. Rachel still loves you more than she loves me."
"Aww! You guys are fighting over me?" Rachel says, pinching Galen's cheek. "That's so adorable."
"I'm not jealous," he says, trying not to sound pouty. "I just don't know why we would need life jackets."
"We don't," Emma says, wriggling around on his lap so she can face him. Secretly, he's delighted. "But humans do. And if my job is keeping the humans safe, then I should be prepared, right?"
But Galen is too distracted by the close proximity of her mouth to be bothered with the words coming out of it. She must recognize it, because she leans forward as if giving him a chance to make good on his craving. It's all the invitation he needs.
He captures her mouth with his. Life jackets, islands, and airports are forgotten. The only thi ~ Anna Banks

Tolerance has come to mean that no one is right and no one is wrong and, indeed, the very act of stating that someone else's views are immoral or incorrect is now taken to be intolerant (of course, from this same point of view, it is all right to be intolerant of those who hold to objectively true moral or religious positions). Once the existence of knowable truth in religion and ethics is denied, authority (the right to be believed and obeyed) gives way to power (the ability to force compliance), reason gives way to rhetoric, the speech writer is replaced by the makeup man, and spirited but civil debate in the culture wars is replaced by politically correct special-interest groups who have nothing left but political coercion to enforce their views on others. ~ J.P. Moreland

It was his fault.She could put the blame for this entirely on Brian Donnelly's shoudlers.If he hadn't been so insufferable,if he hadn't been there being insufferable when Chad had called, she wouldn't have agreed to go out to dinner.And she wouldn't have spent nearly four hours being bored brainless when she could've been doing something more useful.
Like watching paint dry.
There was nothing wrong with Chad, really.If you only had,say,half a brain, no real interest outside of the cut of this year's designer jacket and were thrilled by a rip-roaring debate over the proper way to serve a triple latte,he was the perfect companion.
Unfortunately,she didn't gualify on any of those levels.
Right now he was droning on about the painting he'd bought at a recent art show. No,not the painting,Keeley thought wearily. A discussion of the painting,of art,might have been the medical miracle that prevented her from slipping into a coma.But Chad was discoursing-no other word for it-on The Investment.
He had the windows up and the air conditioning clasting as they drove. It was a perfectly beautiful night, she mused, but putting the windows down meant Chad's hair would be mussed. Couldn't have that.
At least she didn't have to attempt conversation. Chad preferred monologues.
What he wanted was an attractive companion of the right family and tax bracket who dressed well and would sit quietly while he pontificated on the narrow areas of his interest.
K ~ Nora Roberts

Because of the importance of perceiving the means as morally acceptable, there may be a strong ongoing need for justification in idealistic evil. The person is doing something that would normally be regarded as wrong, such as killing or hurting people. Somehow, the person must sustain the belief that it is right. This is often done by focusing on the goodness of the overriding goal. ~ Roy F. Baumeister

You want to fix yourself, change yourself, become someone better. But what about who you already are? You want to craft a mask to wear - something to cover your face. But you already have a face. You are already something.

Your task, as a human being, is not self-augmentation, but self-discovery. Look at yourself with curiosity. Let yourself explore your interests. Delve into your talents. Face your fears. Accept your faults, and give yourself unconditional love.

By learning to explore yourself, you will naturally become the best version of yourself. Of course, you invent your life, but you do not invent your passions. Some things, you must create, and others you must discover.

Learn to be curious about yourself. Then, you will be on the right path. ~ Vironika Tugaleva

Many peoples practiced agriculture, but they were never obsessed by the delusion that what they were doing was *right*, that everyone in the entire world had to practice agriculture, that every last square yard of the planet had to be devoted to it...

If they got tired of being agriculturalists, if they found they didn't like where it was leading them in their particular adaptation, they were *able* to give it up. They didn't say to themselves, 'Well, we've got to keep going at this even if it kills us, because its the *right* way to live.' For example, there was once a people who constructed a vast network of irrigation canals in order to farm the deserts of what is now southeastern Arizona. They maintained these canals for three thousand years and built a fairly advanced civilization, but in the end they were free to say, 'This is a toilsome and unsatisfying way to live, so to hell with it.' They simply walked away from the whole thing and put it so totally out of mind that we don't even know what they called themselves. The only name we have for them is the one the Pima Indians gave them: Hohokam--those who vanished.

But it's not going to be this easy for the Takers. It's going to be hard as hell for them to give it up, because what they're doing is *right*... Giving it up would mean that all along they'd been *wrong*. It would mean they'd *never* known how to rule the world. It would mean relinquishing their pretensions to godhood.... It would mean ~ Daniel Quinn

Why is it that when we had rotary phones, when we were having folks being crippled by polio, that we were teaching the same way then that we're doing right now? ~ Geoffrey Canada

Read books by people you disagree with. Listen to others who think differently from you. Watch programming you wouldn't normally watch. Expand your mind and views of the world. As right as you think you are about your own beliefs and experiences, others feel the same way about their own. You'll learn more than you ever imagined if you see the world through beliefs rather than right and wrong. ~ Emily Maroutian

He was completely detached from every thing except the story he was writing and he was living in it as he built it. The difficult parts he had dreaded he now faced one after another and as he did the people, the country, the days and the nights, and the weather were all there as he wrote. He went on working and he felt as tired as if he had spent the night crossing the broken volcanic desert and the sun had caught him and the others with the dry gray lakes still ahead. He could feel the weight of the heavy double-barreled rifle carried over his shoulder, his hand on the muzzle, and he tasted the pebble in his mouth. Across the shimmer of the dry lakes he could see the distant blue of the escarpment. Ahead of him there was no one, and behind was the long line of porters who knew that they had reached this point three hours too late.
It was not him, of course, who had stood there that morning, nor had he even worn the patched corduroy jacket faded almost white now, the armpits rotted through by sweat, that he took off then and handed to his Kamba servant and brother who shared with him the guilt and knowledge of the delay, watching him smell the sour, vinegary smell and shake his head in disgust and then grin as he swung the jacket over his black shoulder holding it by the sleeves as they started off across the dry-baked gray, the gun muzzles in their right hands, the barrels balanced on their shoulders, the heavy stocks pointing back toward the line of porters.
It wa ~ Ernest Hemingway

A woman lives under pressure on a daily basis. Nearly every day a woman is being criticized for the way she looks, thinks, acts, how she raises her children and her role in the workplace. She is criticized by other women, her husband and/or significant other, her children, family, and friends. Goodness gracious, when will a woman's love ever be good enough?
She's constantly beaten down by being told what she's doing wrong, and barely hears what she has done right. Needless to say, she isn't praised for her accomplishments; often, all she hears is criticism. I would love to see the detractors walk in her shoes for a while. ~ Charlena E. Jackson

We ride too high on deceptive notions of power and security and control and then when it all comes crashing down on us the low is made deeper by the high. By its precipitousness, but also by the humiliation you feel for having failed to see the plummet coming. . . . Lulled by years of relative peace and prosperity we settle into micromanaging our lives with our fancy technologies and custom interest rates and eleven different kinds of milk, and this leads to a certain inwardness, an unchecked narrowing of perspective, the vague expectation that even if we don't earn them and nurture them the truly essential amenities will endure forever as they are. We trust that someone else is looking after the civil liberties shop, so we don't have to. Our military might is unmatched and in any case the madness is at least an ocean away. And then all of a sudden we look up from ordering paper towels online to find ourselves delivered right into the madness. And we wonder: How did this happen? What was I doing when this was in the works? Is it too late to think about it now? . . . ~ Lisa Halliday

But it was the second guy who caught my eye. Like the girl, he, too, paused by the door, seeming even more wary than she looked. The sunlight streaming in through the windows highlighted the rich honey in his dark chocolate brown hair, even as it cast his face in shadow. The tan skin of his arms resembled marble - hard, but smooth and supple at the same time.
He must have passed through the mist spewed up by the fountain outside, because his black T-shirt was wet in places and the damp patches clung to his skin. The wetness allowed me to see just how muscled his chest was. Oh, yeah, I totally ogled that part of him, right up until I spotted the silver cuff on his right wrist.
Given the angle, I couldn't tell what crest was stamped into the metal, but I glanced at the others, who also wore cuffs. I sighed. So they belonged to some Family then. Wonderful. This day just kept getting better. ~ Jennifer Estep

What did she say?" Gavin snapped. René was right beside Tony in case Gavin became violent. He didn't want to fight Gavin, but he also didn't want Gavin attacking his newest child because he was the one receiving Lissa's mindspeech. Winkler and Roff had left the safe house the moment Gavin became angry.

"She said something about not liking the holding cells," Tony said, watching Gavin carefully.

"Inform her, please, that she is still recuperating from two gunshot wounds to her chest. Inform her please, that I am about to lose my mind. Inform her, please, that I have already lost my temper and I have been commanded by Wlodek to let him know if she goes off on her own at any time. Inform her, please, that the hole I am about to put in the wall is her fault and no other's." Gavin set his cell phone carefully on the tiny kitchen table and then punched his fist through the cinderblocks of the wall so swiftly even Tony couldn't follow it. ~ Connie Suttle

I am called an Islamic fundamentalist by Rushdie. My critics in Pakistan say I am a Zionist agent. I must be doing something right. ~ Imran Khan

On her first day of school a small group of children, led by the always-catty Sofia Jean Fleener, began needling her about her pudgy arms and her overly round face. When she replied with a lispy, "Thticks and thtones may break my boneth," Sofia Jean pounced upon that as well, and Elspeth did what many children might do in that situation. She cried.

The next day, the teasing began anew, but this time Elspeth did not cry. Instead, she made a split-second decision to punch Sofia Jean firmly in the solar plexus, while the other children looked on in horror. This time Sofia Jean was the one doing all the crying, and Elspeth decided right then and there that she much preferred this result to the previous day's outcome. ~ Gerry Swallow

When "news stories" are broken, do we not expect a certain amount of fact-checking or source-checking? One has to ask if this falls under the guise of sloppy reporting or deception as a source of spin. We seem to accept a certain amount of deception and we seem to be helpless to doing anything about it, as illustrated so clearly by where we are right now in this moment in our history. ~ Sheryl Crow

Dear Miss Hummingbird,


The leaves are turning green now, but not with envy. But they should be envious, because I, Jarod Ora Kintz, son of a thousand question marks, now have what every unemployed American most covets: a cat. Oh, and I've also got a new job. Almost forgot to mention it.

"What will you be doing?" you may be wondering, and "Is it legal?" Those answers, as you can imagine, are gray. But so are elephants. Gray, I mean. Elephants are gray, not illegal, even though a certain political party in this country that's represented by an elephant mascot certainly does things that to the normal citizen would be considered illegal. But I digress.


Turns out that right under "Mayor of Orafouraville" on my resume, I can now add "Concierge at the Five-Star Hotel." Concierge is just a fancy term that means something similar in Latin, I'm sure.


My job will be to arrange activities for hotel guests for everything from opera tickets to dinner reservations to even organizing the burial of a loved one - though not if the disposal of the body is to be kept secret because a murder has occurred. Murder is such a ghastly (and ghostly) way to spoil dinner reservations for two, wouldn't you agree? Or, rather, wouldn't you not disagree?


This job will allow me to meet interesting people from all over the planet, and possibly even other planets (like Pluto, if that's still even a planet).


It's a full-time job, at least par ~ Jarod Kintz

I sit by his bed and pull the covers over him. In doing so, I accidently brush against his thigh.
And that's when I feel it.
That same electrical sensation I got the first time I touched the spot - in my room, when I begged him to stay the night. The feeling radiates up my spine and gnaws at my nerves. It's like something's there, marked on his leg.
I run my fingers over the spot - through the blanket - almost tempted to have a look. I close my eyes, trying to sense things the way he does - to get a mental picture from merely touching the area. But I can't. And I don't.
Still, I have to know if I'm right.
I peer over my shoulder toward the door, checking to see that no one's looking in. And then I roll the covers down.
Ben's wearing a hospital gown. With trembling fingers, I pull the hem and see it right away: the image of a chameleon, tattooed on his upper thigh. It's about four inches long, with green and yellow stripes.
And its tail curls into the letter C.
I feel my face furrow, wondering when he got the tattoo, and why he never told me. It wasn't so long ago that I told him the story of my name - how my mother named me after a chameleon, because chameleons have keen survival instincts. ~ Laurie Faria Stolarz

At the age of eight, John Quincy Adams was made the man of his house while his father, John Adams, was off doing important John Adams things for America. This would be a lot of terrifying responsibility at any time in American history, but it just so happens that, when Adams was eight years old, the *Revolutionary freaking War* was happening right outside his house. He watched the Battle of Bunker Hill from his front porch, according to his diary, worried that he might be 'butchered in cold blood, or taken and carried ... as hostages by any foraging or marauding detachment of British soldiers.' I don't have the diary I kept at age eight, but I think the only things I worried about was whether or not they'd have for dogs in the school the next day and if I had the wherewithal and clarity of purpose to collect all of the Pokemon. John Q, on the other hand, guarded his house, mother, and siblings during wartime.

This isn't to imply that eight-year-old John Quincy Adams could have beaten eight-year-old you in a fight, but to imply that eight-year-old John Quincy Adams could beat you *as an adult*. ~ Daniel O'Brien

Is Christian ethics merely a specific set of Christian answers to the question of good and evil, right and wrong? To make it no more than this is to forget that man's fall was a fall into the knowledge of good and evil, reinforced by the inexorable knowledge of a condemning law, and that man's restoration in Christ is a restoration to freedom and grace, to a love that needs no law since it knows and does only what is in accord with love and with God. To imprison ethics in the realm of division, of good and evil, right and wrong, is to condemn it to sterility, and rob it of its real reason for existing, which is love. Love cannot be reduced to one virtue among many others prescribed by ethical imperatives. When love is only "a virtue" among many, man forgets that "God is love" and becomes incapable of that all-embracing love by which we secretly begin to know God as our Creator and Redeemer - who has saved us from the limitations of a purely restrictive and aimless existence "under a law."

So Bonhoeffer says very rightly: "In the knowledge of good and evil man does not understand himself in the reality of the destiny appointed in his origin, but rather in his own possibilities, his possibility of being good or evil. He knows himself now as something apart from God, outside God, and this means that he now knows only himself and no longer knows God at all…. The knowledge of good and evil is therefore separation from God. Only against God can man know good and evil. ~ Thomas Merton

Or, you say that this business of marking books is going to slow up your reading. It probably will. That's one of the reasons for doing it. Most of us have been taken in by the notion that speed of reading is a measure of our intelligence. There is no such thing as the right speed for intelligent reading. Some things should be read quickly and effortlessly, and some should be read slowly and even laboriously. The sign of intelligence in reading is the ability to read different things differently according to their worth. In the case of good books, the point is not to see how many of them you can get through, but rather how many can get through you - how many you can make your own. A few friends are better than a thousand acquaintances. If this be your aim, as it should be, you will not be impatient if it takes more time and effort to read a great book than it does a newspaper. ~ Mortimer Adler

How do we meditate silently? Just by not talking, just by not using outer words, we are not doing silent meditation. Silent meditation is totally different. When we start meditating in silence, right from the beginning we feel the bottom of a sea within us and without. The life of activity movement and restlessness is on the surface, but deep below, underneath our human life, there is poise and silence. So, either we shall imagine this sea of silence within us or we shall feel that we are nothing but a sea of poise itself. ~ Sri Chinmoy

You might start by thanking me."
For what? For finding something else that was so important to do that it took you all the way from midnight on Samhain ‗til four days later to come for me? I'm not going to thank you for saving me from something you failed to save me from to begin with."

You look fine to me.
In fact, you're better than fine, aren't you? You walked right through my wards, without a word. Didn't even leave a note by the bedside. Really,after all we shared, Ms. Lane. But do I get any thanks for doing the
impossible and bringing you back from being Pri-ya? No. What do I get? You steal my guns. ~ Karen Marie Moning

What would happen if we took everything that exists in the universe, and divided it by one? I'll tell you. It would remain the same. So, therefore, how do we know that someone isn't doing that right now, at this very instant? It makes me shudder to think of it. We might be constantly divided by one, or multiplied by one for that matter, and we wouldn't even know it! ~ Mark Helprin

Jesus says that those who live by God's forgiveness must imitate it. A person whose only hope is that God will not hold his faults against him forfeits his right to hold others' faults against them. ~ David Jeremiah

I still stared at Daemon, completely aware that everyone else except him was watching me. Closely. But why wouldn't he look at me? A razor-sharp panic clawed at my insides. No. This couldn't be happening. No way.

My body was moving before I even knew what I was doing.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Dee shake her head and one of the Luxen males step forward, but I was propelled by an inherent need to prove that my worst fears were not coming true.

After all, he'd healed me, but then I thought of what Dee had said, of how Dee had behaved with me. What if Daemon was like her? Turned into something so foreign and cold? He would've healed me just to make sure he was okay.

I still didn't stop.
 Please, I thought over and over again. Please. Please. Please. On shaky legs, I crossed the long room, and even though Daemon hadn't seemed to even acknowledge my existence, I walked right up to him, my hands trembling as I placed them on his chest.

"Daemon?" I whispered, voice thick.

His head whipped around, and he was suddenly staring down at me. Our gazes collided once more, and for a second I saw something so raw, so painful in those beautiful eyes. And then his large hands wrapped around my upper arms. The contact seared through the shirt I wore, branding my skin, and I thought - I expected - that he would pull me against him, that he would embrace me, and even though nothing would be all right, it would be better.

Jennifer L. Armentrout

People love super heroes. It's true we're impressed by their bravery and fortitude, their supernatural gifts and physical brawn. But the fact is, villains possess these same qualities. So why our admiration for the hero and not the nemesis? Because of virtue. A super hero gives everything to defend what's good and right without seeking praise or reward. Think about it. All the great heroes give without taking, help without grumbling, sacrifice without asking recompense. A super hero's real strength, what we absolutely fall in love with, is his finer virtue. ~ Richelle E. Goodrich

But when it comes to life or love, I choose life. I'm here right now, ready to live and love another day. I could never regret that. I'm glad you didn't love me. You gave me my life by doing so. ~ Karina Halle

For all men being originally equals, no one by birth could have the right to set up his own family in perpetual preference to all others forever, and tho' himself might deserve some decent degree of honours of his cotemporaries, yet his descendants might be far too unworthy to inherit them. ~ Thomas Paine

Putting your own life on hold is all fun and games until every opportunity passes you by. There will never be a right time. Just different days, some more convenient than others. ~ Torron-Lee Dewar

He nodded, took a step away. "I'll send for you soon. Believe me."
"Would my Westley ever lie?"
He took another step. "I'm late. I must go. I hate it but I must. The ship sails soon and London is far."
"I understand."
He reached out with his right hand.
Buttercup found it very hard to breathe.
"Good-by."
She managed to raise her right hand to his.
They shook.
"Good-by," he said again.
She made a little nod.
He took a third step, not turning.
She watched him.
He turned.
And the words ripped out of her: "Without one kiss?"
They fell into each other's arms. ~ William Goldman

Unlike my brother, I had no respect for authority. Very early on, Uncle Georg had told me the truth about teachers: that they were moral cowards who took out on their pupils all the frustrations they could not take out on their wives. When I was very young Uncle Georg impressed upon me that among the educated classes teachers were the basest and most dangerous people, on a par with judges, who were the lowest form of human life. Teachers and judges, he said, are the meanest slaves of the state--remember that. He was right, as I have discovered not just hundreds but thousands of times. No teacher and no judge can be trusted as far as you can throw him. Without scruple or compunction they daily destroy many of the existences that are thrown upon their mercy, being motivated by base caprice and a desire to avenge themselves for their miserable, twisted lives--and they are actually paid for doing so. The supposed objectivity of teachers and judges is a piece of shabby mendacity, Uncle Georg said--and he was right. Talking to a teacher we soon discover that he is a destructive individual with whom no one and nothing is safe, and the same is true when we talk to a judge. ~ Thomas Bernhard

How can you come to know yourself? Never by thinking, always by doing. Try to do your duty, and you'll know right away what you amount to. ~ Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

I never will, by any word or act, bow to the shrine of intolerance or admit a right of inquiry into the religious opinions of others. ~ Thomas Jefferson

He stared down at her for a moment, wanting to heal every
cut on her soft skin. But he couldn't, not yet. He needed to get her,
and her car, far from this place so neither he nor Kate would be
implicated in any way with the gruesome murder site.
It also meant he would have to drive.
In all his years, he had never driven an automobile. The closest he
had come was watching various assistants through the years as they
chauffeured him. He wasn't sure he could even remember how to
start the car, but right now he had no choice.
Grudgingly, he got into the driver's seat, and finding the lever
underneath, he pushed it back so he sat comfortably behind the
wheel. After trying three different keys, he found one that slipped into
the ignition.
From what he had seen over the past hundred years, driving was
not a complex operation, and he was an immortal with reflexes far
more keen than a human man.
How difficult could it be?
He turned the key and nearly jerked the wheel off the steering
column when the car surprised him by lurching forward. The car went
silent. The engine wasn't running. What was he doing wrong?
He stared at the gearshift, wondering if he should move it. His
frustration reared up, but his agitation would not make the car drive
itself. He had to keep a cool head.
Not knowing what else to try, he pushed one of the pedals at his
feet to the floor and turne ~ Lisa Kessler

Never confuse being righteous vs. being arrogant. An arrogant person will see a person lashing out because they were hurt by them and they will not try to mend the situation or even understand their point of view. They take the superior viewpoint that others are not worthy of their time because they believe they are right and those angry with them are wrong. A righteous person doesn't care who is right or wrong. God asked them to love everyone. They make their life about leaving people in peace, not pain. ~ Shannon L. Alder

If it's easy to be friendly she will be. If the wind blows the other way her friendship will be gone. And I'm thinking the wind is blowing the other way. She has found some other way to be an important person in her own right by hating others. ~ Charlaine Harris

There is a reason for the affected profession of " anarchist sympathies" among Tories and grandees, and of " libertarian principles" by Hobbesian yahoos of the right. Among the former, one sees the upholding of the view that a gentleman's business and property are his own, and none of the government's. Among the latter, a distaste for democracy, for taxation, and for the need to consult others about the planet. ~ Christopher Hitchens

What is even more striking than the negational character of this political culture is the absence of robust and constructive affirmations. Vibrant cultures make space for leisure, philosophical reflection, scientific and intellectual mastery, and artistic and literary expression, among other things. Within the larger Christian community in America, one can find such vitality in pockets here and there. Yet where they do exist, they are eclipsed by the greater prominence and vast resources of the political activists and their organizations. What is more, there are few if any places in the pronouncements and actions of the Christian Right or the Christian Left (none that I could find) where these gifts are acknowledged, affirmed, or celebrated. What this means is that rather than being defined by its cultural achievements, its intellectual and artistic vitality, its service to the needs of others, Christianity is defined to the outside world by its rhetoric of resentment and the ambitions of a will in opposition to others. ~ James Davison Hunter

President Obama is doing the right thing by offering young immigrants, most often in this country through no action of their own, a chance to live and work openly, free from the fear of deportation. ~ Eliot Spitzer

While this is all very amusing, the kiss that will free the girl is the kiss that she most desires," she said. "Only that and nothing more."

Jace's heart started to pound. He met the Queen's eyes with his own. "Why are you doing this?"

… "Desire is not always lessened by disgust…And as my words bind my magic, so you can know the truth. If she doesn't desire your kiss, she won't be free."

"You don't have to do this, Clary, it's a trick - " (Simon)

...Isabelle sounded exasperated. 'Who cares, anyway? It's just a kiss."

"That's right," Jace said. Clary looked up, then finally, and her wide green eyes rested on him. He moved toward her... and put his hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him… He could feel the tension in his own body, the effort of holding back, of not pulling her against him and taking this one chance, however dangerous and stupid and unwise, and kissing her the way he had thought he would never, in his life, be able to kiss her again. "It's just a kiss," he said, and heard the roughness in his own voice, and wondered if she heard it, too.

Not that it mattered - there was no way to hide it. It was too much. He had never wanted like this before... She understood him, laughed when he laughed, saw through the defenses he put up to what was underneath. There was no Jace Wayland more real than the one he saw in her eyes when she looked at him… All he knew was that whatever he had to owe to Hell or ~ Cassandra Clare