Every writer prefers good reviews over bad ones, and every writer wants to have lots of readers. But if it doesn't happen, that's fine too. Perhaps I won't throw a party then; I'll simply go home and keep writing.

I never thought I'd hear myself say it, but safety first!

Bless my soul,” whispered the old bartender, “Harry Potter . . . what an honor.

There is no part of me that feels that I represented myself as your children’s babysitter or their teacher. I was always, I think, completely honest. I’m a writer, and I will write what I want to write.

I am not trying to influence anyone into black magic. That is the very last thing I'd want to do.

I've been writing since I was six. It is a compulsion, so I can't really say where the desire came from; I've always had it. My breakthrough with the first book came through persistence, because a lot of publishers turned it down!

Er — have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?” Harry asked, hoping he sounded offhand. “Never at Hogwarts. We’ve had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. You don’t have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers —” “— unless they crack my head open.” “Don’t worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers — I mean, they’re like a pair of human Bludgers themselves.