I'm very frustrated by fear of imagination. I don't think that's healthy.

Finding out what you’re good at, and doing it to the best of your ability, is the route to self-respect.

Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans's eyes, I am sure?

Snape is vindictive, he's cruel. He's not a big man. But he loves. I like him, but I'd also like to slap him hard.

I can write anywhere. I made up the names of the characters on a sick bag while I was on an airplane. I told this to a group of kids and a boy said, "Ah, no, that's disgusting." And I said, "Well, I hadn't used the sick bag."

Yeah you can have a word," said Harry savagely. "Good-bye.

He’s gone, Harry told himself. He’s gone. He had to keep thinking it as he washed and dressed, as though repetition would dull the shock of it. He’s gone and he’s not coming back. And that was the simple truth of it, Harry knew, because their protective enchantments meant that it would be impossible, once they vacated this spot, for Ron to find them again.