What do we want to be prefects for?” said George, looking revolted at the very idea. “It’d take all the fun out of life.

You think the dead we loved truly ever leave us? You think that we don't recall them more clearly in times of great trouble?

I'll be writing until I can't write anymore. It's a compulsion with me. I love writing.

To have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever.

That old berk," muttered Aberforth, taking another swig of mead. "Thought the sun shone out of my brother's every orifice, he did.

I gave my hero a talent I'd love to have. Who wouldn't want to fly?

I cared more about your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.