Cinderella? Snow White? What's that? An illness?

I felt I had to solve everyone's problems.

I will not calm down!

Somewhere out in the darkness, a phoenix was singing in a way Harry had never heard before: a stricken lament of terrible beauty. And Harry felt, as he had felt about phoenix song before, that the music was inside him, not without: It was his own grief turned magically to song.

He put his foot on one pedal, scooted a few yards and swung his other leg over the saddle. He soared left into the vertiginously sloping hillside road and sped, without touching his brakes ... The hedgerows and sky blurred; he imagined himself in a velodrome as the wind whipped his hair clean...

On her daughter, Jessica: Kids at her school will sidle up to me and say, Does Jessica know what happens in book 4? Does Jessica know the title of book 4? And I keep saying, No! There is no point kidnapping her, taking her around back of the bike shed, and torturing her for information.

He dreamed of London and of a life that mattered.