Choice was dangerous: you had to forgo all other possibilities when you chose.

He had been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn't paid attention to where he was going.

He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

It's going to be all right, sir," Harry said over and over again, more worried by Dumbledore's silence than he had been by his weakened voice. "We're nearly there ... I can Apparate us both back ... don't worry ..." "I am not worried, Harry," said Dumbledore, his voice a little stronger despite the freezing water. "I am with you.

Dumbledore says people find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right.

Life, for Colin, was one long brace against pain and disappointment, and everybody apart from his wife was an enemy until proven otherwise.

No witch has ever claimed to own the Elder Wand. Make of that what you will.