“It's so dark," she said lamely.

"You want me to hold your hand?"

Clary put both her hands behind her back like a small child.

"Don't talk down to me."

"Well, I could hardly talk up to you. You're too short.”

— Cassandra Clare , book City of Bones

Source: City of Bones

Last update June 3, 2021. History

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Do you have more details about the quote "It's so dark," she said lamely. "You want me to hold your hand?" Clary put both her hands behind her back like a smal…" by Cassandra Clare?

Cassandra Clare 2041

American author 1973

Kieran Scott (1974) American writer

Source: He's So Not Worth It

“I can't do this to you,' he said, drawing back. Emily put her hand on his and pulled the gun to her temple. 'Then do it for me,' she said.”

Jodi Picoult book The Pact

Source: The Pact

“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.”

Cassandra Clare book City of Heavenly Fire

Source: City of Heavenly Fire

“He gave you to me," she said, so low I could hardly hear her. "Now I have to give you back to him, Mama.”

Diana Gabaldon book Voyager

Source: Voyager

“To me she was a woman but to herself she was still a child calling to her mother to hold her hand and help her. And her own mother, in the secret life we do not see, was a child too. I come from a line of children without end.”

J.M. Coetzee book Life & Times of Michael K

Life & Times of Michael K (1983)
Context: He closed his eyes and tried to recover in his imagination the mudbrick walls and reed roof of her stories, the garden of prickly pear, the chickens scampering for the feed scattered by the little barefoot girl. And behind that child, in the doorway, her face obscured by shadow, he searched for a second woman, the woman from whom his mother had come into the world. When my mother was dying in the hospital, he thought, when she knew her end was coming, it was not me she looked to but someone who stood behind me: her mother or the ghost of her mother. To me she was a woman but to herself she was still a child calling to her mother to hold her hand and help her. And her own mother, in the secret life we do not see, was a child too. I come from a line of children without end.