“He leans over and takes her hand. With the other he touches her face. ‘You your best thing, Sethe. You are.’ His holding fingers are holding hers.

‘Me? Me?”

“And it was good just to hold her and touch the softness of her skin. He wanted to hold her hard, not to hurt her but to keep her safe, to show her that he was strong enough to protect her. Her beauty was like fire and strange music, and he loved her.”

“To me, a witch is a woman that is capable of letting her intuition take hold of her actions, that communes with her environment, that isn't afraid of facing challenges.”

“If I hold her hand she says, ‘Don’t touch!’
If I hold her foot she says ‘Don’t touch!’
But when I hold her waist-beads she pretends not to know.”

“I don't remember everything," he said.
"Not yet. But I remember you."
He brought her hand up, touched the gold ring on her right index finger, the Fair Folk metal warm to the touch.
"Clary," he said.
"You're Clary. You're my best friend.”

“We don't fit in, you and me," he said. "We're both oddities no one knows what to do with. But we fit together." He took her hand, pressed her palm to his, then laced their fingers through each other's. "We fit.”

“He caught her by the wrist, brought her hand to his bare chest. Splayed her fingers over his heart. It beat against her palm, like a fist punching its way through his sternum. 'Break my heart,' he said. 'Break it in pieces. I give you permission.”

“His wicked sense of humour suggests exciting sex
His fingers focus on her
Her touches
He's Venus as a Boy!”

“He pointed a shaking finger at her. 'You,' he growled.

She jerked glances over both of her shoulders looking for the unfortunate You he was addressing. Her. Holy shite, this madman had settled on her.”

“Do you want to hold it?' she asked, dangling the padded envelope in front of Hale with two fingers.

'No.'

'Do you want to touch it and kiss it and wear it around your neck?'

'Don't be silly,' he told her. 'Everyone knows green isn't my color.”