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“You're my sister," he said finally. "My sister, my blood, my family. I should want to protect you"—he laughed soundlessly without any humor—"to protect you from the sort of boys who want to do with you exactly what I want to do."

Clary's breath caught. "You said you just wanted to be my brother from now on."

"I lied," he said. "Demons lie, Clary. You know, there are some kinds of wounds you can get when you're a Shadowhunter—internal injuries from demon poison. You don't even know what's wrong with you, but you're bleeding to death slowly inside. That's what it's like, just being your brother."

"But Aline—"

"I had to try. And I did." His voice was lifeless. "But God knows, I don't want anyone but you. I don't even want to want anyone but you." He reached out, trailed his fingers lightly through her hair, fingertips brushing her cheek. "Now at least I know why."

Clary's voice had sunk to a whisper. "I don't want anyone but you, either.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Glass

“Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder; and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man!”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

“Learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge, and how much happier that man is who believes his native town to be his world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

“... the companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein: The 1818 Text