Every second he breathed, the smell of the grass, the cool air on his face, was so precious: To think that people had years and years, time to waste, so much time it dragged, and he was clinging to each second.

In fact, you couldn't give me anything to make me go back to being a teenager. Never. No, I hated it.

Hey, look — Harry’s got a Weasley sweater, too!” Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G. “Harry’s is better than ours, though,” said Fred, holding up Harry’s sweater. “She obviously makes more of an effort if you’re not family.

Madam Pince, our librarian, tells me that it is 'pawed about, dribbled on, and generally maltreated' nearly everyday - a high compliment for any book.

Let’s see . . . ah, yes, this is nice and cozy.” It was a broom cupboard.

I never know," Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "What's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?" "Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid.

Well — I was lucky once, wasn't I?” said Harry, pointing at his scar. “I might get lucky again.