"There were two height charts scribbled on the plaster, the kind you got by standing someone against a wall and drawing a line just above their head, with the date. One was marked Will Herondale, the other, James Carstairs."
“I like the clock,” he said, pointing up at it. “There’s a legend about that clock.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “For a second, when it chimes the hour, the gates to Heaven open.” Livvy sighed; a rare wistfulness flashed across her face. “As far as I’m concerned, Heaven is just the Institute being ours again. And all of us going home.”
(Later)
But the soul, the spirit that made her Livvy was no longer there: It was something that had gone away to a far and untouchable place, even as Julian ran his hands over her hair again and again and begged her to wake up and look at him just one more time.
High above the Council Hall, the golden clock began to chime the hour.
"Not everyone has a heart like yours. Most people will not give and give. All they know how to do is take. Not because they mean to, but because they never learned otherwise. And so, carrying a heart this big can hurt. It can leave you hollow and exhausted. And even though sharing so much of your light is a gift, it can also start to feel like a curse. But it doesn’t have to be. It’s okay to be selective about who gets your heart and time and energy. It’s okay to step back from people who take more than they give. Even if they have good intentions. Even if there are some days when the effort is there. Even if they love you and care — it’s okay to be particular about the people you let into your life. That isn’t selfish or unkind. It’s self-care. You can’t share your time and energy with everyone. You can’t meet everyone’s needs. And you can’t take care of people every minute of the day. No one can. You’re allowed to prioritize your self-care. You can’t be there for the people you love if your tank is empty. And you can’t be there for yourself if you’ve given all you have to give."