“Damn it," he mumbled apologetically, "things like this never happened to Vorthalia the Bold."She raised a thoughtful eyebrow. "How do you know? The histories of those times were all written by minstrels and poets. You try and think of a word that rhymes with 'bleeding ulcer”

“How do you know that?""Because,"Chong said with raised eyebrows,"when you open those things called 'books',there are words as well as pictures.Sometimes the words tell you stuff.”

“He raised an eyebrow, which made Clary instantly jealous. She’d always wanted to be able to do that....Magnus raised an eyebrow. Damn, Clary thought, another one.”

“You know I used to be the back porch poet with my book of lines, always hoping knowing all the time, I'm probably never gonna find the perfect rhyme. . .For heavier things”

“She thought she would know when it happened. But now, as she looked around, she wondered if it was really like that at all. Maybe it happened in a million different ways, when you were thinking of it and you weren't. Maybe there was no gap, no jump, no chasm. You didn't forget yourself all at once. Maybe you just looked around one time or another and you thought, Hey. And there you were. ”

“Auden? Does he rhyme? I only like poetry that rhymes. Allthe best poets write in rhyme.""Really?""Dr. Seuss and Shakespeare. You can't do better than that.”