The mundanes put their faith in their paper money, and when that turns to ash, the world will turn upside down.

You are mortal. You age, you die. If that is not hell, pray tell me, what is?

Mundane humans create distinctions between themselves, distinctions that seem ridiculous to any Shadowhunter. Their distinctions are based on race, religion, national identity, any of a dozen minor and irrelevant markers. ~ Valentine

How had it happened, Simon thought, that he was bound to these people—to people who thought of him as nothing more than a Downworlder, half human at best?