"I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. It took seven languages to make me; it would be nice if I could have spoken just one."

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She'd always had such contempt for mundanes, the way all Shadowhunters did--she'd believed that they were soft, stupid, sheeplike in their complacency. Now she wondered if all that hatred didn't just stem from the fact that she was jealous. It must be nice not worrying that every time one of your family members walked out the door, they'd never come back.

— Cassandra Clare