He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)I am never without it (anywhereI go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)I fear no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet)I want no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true)and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is youhere is the deepest secret nobody knows(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which growshigher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apartI carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

And now I’m looking at you,” he said, “and you’re asking me if I still want you, as if I could stop loving you. As if I would want to give up the thing that makes me stronger than anything else ever has. I never dared give much of myself to anyone before – bits of myself to the Lightwoods, to Isabelle and Alec, but it took years to do it – but, Clary, since the first time I saw you, I have belonged to you completely. I still do. If you want me.

I have something I need to tell you,” he says. I run my fingers along the tendons in his hands and look back at him. “I might be in love with you.” He smiles a little. “I’m waiting until I’m sure to tell you, though.””That’s sensible of you,” I say, smiling too. “We should find some paper so you can make a list or a chart or something.”I feel his laughter against my side, his nose sliding along my jaw, his lips pressing my ear.”Maybe I’m already sure,” he says, “and I just don’t want to frighten you.”I laugh a little. “Then you should know better.””Fine,” he says. “Then I love you.

What Is Love? I have met in the streets a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, the water passed through his shoes and the stars through his soul