The elf’s eyes found him, and his lips trembled with the effort to form words. ‘Harry... Potter...’ And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great, glassy orbs sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.

The ones that love us never really leave us.

And Death spoke to them —’” “Sorry,” interjected Harry, “but Death spoke to them?” “It’s a fairy tale, Harry!” “Right, sorry. Go on.

All those poor elves I haven’t set free yet, having to stay over during Christmas because there aren’t enough hats!

I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind. “At these times, I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one’s mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one’s leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form.

I'm dying!" Malfoy yelled, as the class panicked. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!

Personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a checklist of acquisition. Your qualifications are not your life.