“Andrea raised her hand. “This is the hand that slapped Aunt B.”
“Maybe you should have it gold-plated.”
“Here, you can touch it, since you’re my best friend.”

“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.”

“Wisdom's daughter walks alone—”
“Ella!” Frank stood suddenly. “Maybe it's not the best time—”Ella continued, cupping her hands over her ears and raising her voice.”

“I stopped the blade two inches before it touched Andrea’s neck. Because she was my best friend, and sticking knives into your best friend’s windpipe was generally considered to be a social faux pas.”

“That night I lay in bed, remembering the moment when her hand touched mine. I wondered what it would be like to have her touch me not by accident, to maybe have her let me touch her.”

“How'd you get in here?"
She raised her eyebrows. “You pick pockets.” Kat watched his hand fly to his back pocket. “I can pick locks. Looking for this?” she asked, holding up his wallet. “Oops. Maybe I can pick pockets too.”

“I beheld with my eyes. And handled with my hands the gold plates from which it was translated. I also beheld the Interpreters.”

“How many people here have telekinetic powers? Raise my hand.”

“It’s your duty as my best friend to be outraged with me.”
“I’m outraged!” I snarled. “That bastard!”
“Thank you,” Andrea said.”

“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?”