“It’s impossible,” he snapped.

“Why?”

“Because I’m Sebastian, Lord St. Vincent. I can’t be celibate. Everyone knows that.”

“I thought you were all-seeing.”
All-knowing, not all-seeing!” he snapped. “I’m a God, not Santa Claus!”

“Gimme hate, Lord,” he whimpered. “I’ll take hate any day. But don’t give me love. I can’t take no more love, Lord. I can’t carry it… It’s too heavy. Jesus, you know, you know all about it. Ain’t it heavy? Jesus? Ain’t love heavy?”

“Clary smiled at him with a warmth she didn’t feel.
“Sebastian says I can come with you.”
Jace raised his eyebrows.
“Matching haircuts for everyone?”
“I hope not,” said Sebastian. “I look terrible with curls.”

“I'm angry that I can't sleep that I hate myself
that I can’t write as well as I want
because I’m so damn angry I can’t breathe
Furious that nobody else seems to be angry
and they don’t want me to be either
Enraged at this whole sodden rotting mess they keep calling
civilization
as it poisons the air and the water and kills everyone in it’s way.”

“But my lord, Yvonne, surely you know by this time I can’t get drunk however much I drink.”

“I’m fed up with everyone being lied to just because the administration thinks it’s in our best interests not to know all the facts.”

“I've been in the inventor business for 33 years and my experience is that for every problem the Lord has made, He has also made a solution. If you and I can't find the solution, the let's honestly admit that you and I are damn fools but why blame it on the Lord and say He created something 'impossible.”

“I think it's IMPOSSIBLE for anyone famous to come from here, because everyone around here is insane.”

“What I’m really wondering is why notices were posted and invitations sent out at all: If it’s a psychics’ convention, shouldn’t everyone just know where and when to meet?”