He knew one thing only, and it was beyond fear or reason: He was not going to die crouching here like a child playing hide-and-seek; he was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort’s feet . . . he was going to die upright like his father, and he was going to die trying to defend himself, even if no defense was possible. . . .

I knew I could do it all this time,” said Harry, “Because I'd already done it... does that make sense?

It's the same story with a few crucial additions; the most important one is you.

If he doesn't stop trying to save your life he's going to kill you.

A bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. "You want to be careful with those," Ron warned Harry. "When they say every flavor, they mean every flavor - you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a booger-flavored one once." Ron picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully, and bit into a corner. "Bleaaargh - see? Sprouts.

Let my girls be Hermiones, rather than Pansy Parkinsons.

Howard and Shirley were clothed, always, in an invisible layer of decorum that they never laid aside.