I hope that even if you remember not a single word of mine, you remember those of Seneca, another of those old Romans I met when I fled down the Classics corridor, in retreat from career ladders, in search of ancient wisdom: As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.

Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!

You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry didn’t take it. “I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” he said coolly.

Do not pity the dead, Harry.

I have some problems with conventional organized religion.

I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon. Hagrid seized his pink umbrella and whirled it over his head "NEVER -" he thundered "- INSULT -ALBUS -DUMBLEDORE - IN - FRONT - OF - ME!

Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?" "Yes." "You called her a liar?" "Yes." "You told her He Who Must Not Be Named is back?" "Yes." "Have a biscuit, Potter.