"Of course you can have a true Shadowhunter name," Will said. "You can have mine."
Tessa stared at him, all black and white against the black-and-white snow and stone. "Your name?"
Will took a step toward her, till they stood face-to-face. Then he reached to take her hand and slid off her glove, which he put into his pocket. He held her bare hand in his, his fingers curved around hers. His hand was warm and callused, and his touch made her shiver. His eyes were steady and blue; they were everything that Will was: true and tender, sharp and witty, loving and kind. "Marry me," he said. "Marry me, Tess. Marry me and be called Tessa Herondale. Or be Tessa Gray, or be whatever you wish to call yourself, but marry me and stay with me and never leave me, for I cannot bear another day of my life to go by that does not have you in it."

She asks, and something in your head tells you that what she’s doing is right – and that it’s the only reason she has to live. She asked me to die defending her – knowing I didn’t even like her much. Quick, for the rest of my life, I will never forget that moment.’
‘And you still can’t quite work out what happened.’
The assassin nodded. ‘All at once, it’s as if she’s somehow laid bare your soul and there it is, exposed, trembling, vulnerable beyond all belief – and she could take it, grasp it tight until the blood starts dripping. She could even stab it right through. But she didn’t – she didn’t do any of that, Quick. She reached down, her finger hovered, and then … gone, as if that was all she needed.’
‘You can stop now,’ the wizard muttered. ‘What you’re talking about – between two people – it almost never happens. Maybe it’s what we all want, but Kalam, it almost never happens.’
‘There was no respect in what Laseen offered,’ the assassin said. ‘It was a raw bribe, reaching for the worst in me. But from Tavore …’
‘Nothing but respect. Now I see it, Kal. I see it.

"See," he said, "the arrow struck against this. It is the kiss I gave her. It has saved her life."

"Go Ahead, call me all the names you want," Sansa said airily. "You won't dare when I'm married to Joffrey. You'll have to bow and call me Your Grace." She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap.
"You have juice on your face, Your Grace ," Arya said.

"There is life beyond death, I know, and I know this, too, Conan of Cimmeria" — she rose lithely to her knees and caught him in a pantherish embrace — "my love is stronger than any death! I have lain in your arms, panting with the violence of our love; you have held and crushed and conquered me, drawing my soul to your lips with the fierceness of your bruising kisses. My heart is welded to your heart, my soul is part of your soul! Were I still in death and you fighting for life, I would come back to the abyss to aid you — aye, whether my spirit floated with the purple sails on the crystal sea of paradise, or writhed in the molten flames of hell! I am yours, and all the gods and all their eternities shall not sever us!"

My name is immaterial,' she said.
That's a pretty name,' said Rincewind.

"She glared at me like she was about to punch me, but then she did something that surprised me even more. She kissed me.
"Be careful seaweed brain." She said putting on her invisible cap and disappearing.
I probably would have sat there all day, trying to remember my name, but then the sea demons came."

Her name is <i>Anarchy</i>. And she has taught me more as a mistress than <i>you</i> [Justice] ever did! She has taught me that <i>justice</i> is meaningless without <i>freedom</i>. <i>She</i> is honest. <i>She</i> makes no promises and breaks none. Unlike <i>you</i>, <i>Jezebel</i>.

And may my bronze name / touch always her thousand fingers / grow brighter with her weeping / until I am fixed like a galaxy / and memorized / in her secret and fragile skies.

That monstrosity you honour with your name - which is also mine, thank you!

I really cannot understand the point of what you're saying. Really,' said Clotilde, looking at her. 'What a very extraordinary person you are. What sort of a woman are you? Why are you talking like this? Who are you?'

Miss Marple pulled down the mass of pink wool that encircled her head, a pink wool scarf of the same kind that she had once worn in the West Indies.

'One of my names,' she said, 'is Nemesis.'

'Nemesis? And what does that mean?'

'I think you know,' said Miss Marple. 'You are a very well educated woman. Nemesis is long delayed sometimes, but it comes in the end.

The act of naming is the great and solemn consolation of mankind

To pronounce the name of the dead is to make them live again.

The only spirit that ever gave me a name was St. Tammany whom reassured me of my future success early on and kept saying the name Matthew Edward Hall whom i predict will be a prophet or future savior of some sort. I've confirmed St. Tammany to be Tamanend, the only Native American Saint.