“Indeed, there is pain when spring buds burst..."Wasn't there a Swedish poet who had said something like that? Or was she Finnish?”

“I finish what I start, and I Finnish what I Swedish.”

“It was spring, the part of spring where the bursting is done, the held-in pressures of desiccated sap-veins and gum-sealed buds are gone, and all the world’s in a rush to be beautiful.”

“He'd been coiled like a snake for years and the tension had gone slack and when he was ready to spring the spring wasn't there, but it could be recoiled.”

“Like the generations of leaves, the lives of mortal men. Now the wind scatters the old leaves across the earth, now the living timber bursts with the new buds and spring comes round again. And so with men: as one generation comes to life, another dies away.”

“I know what you said! My mother would never have belonged to something like that. Some kind of-some kind of hate group.""It wasn't-," Jace began, but Hodge cut him off."I doubt," he said slowly, as if the words pained him, "that she had much choice."Clary stared. "What are you talking about? Why wouldn't she have had a choice?""Because," said Hodge, "she was Valentine's wife.”