“Ragnor's important business was probably getting together to write a burn book with Raphael. Magnus could see them now, sharing a bench and scribbling happily away about Magnus's stupid hair.”

“It had been a whim, and there was nothing Magnus attached more importance to than a whim.”

“"Nothing," chorused Clary, Simon, Alec, Magnus, and Jace, in a surprising and probably never-to-be-repeated unison.”

“How can you not care?"
"Practice," Magnus said, looking back to his book and turning the page.”

“Even the trip throught the Portal had not disarranged Magnus's hair spikes. He tugged on one proudly. "Check it out", he said to Isabelle.
"Magic?"
"Hair gel. $3.99 at Ricky's.”

“Someday," Magnus said, looking at the crumpled royal person at his feet, "I must write my memoirs.”

“Magnus thought of James Herondale, burning up with too much light, too much love, too much, too much- while the boy in the portrait was as lovely as a dying poet, with the fragile beauty of a candle about to gutter out.”

“God, I hate rogue necromancers," said Magnus. "Why can't they just follow the rules?"
"Probably because the biggest rule is 'no necromancy'?" Emma suggested”

“You can't write. That's not writing. It's scribbling. Distasteful scribbling. Why can't you write properly?”

“See them burning crosses, see the flames get higher and higher”