'Tell me one last thing,' said Harry. 'Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?' Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry's ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure. 'Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?'

I've never wanted to be a witch, but an alchemist, now that's a different matter. To invent this wizard world, I've learned a ridiculous amount about alchemy. Perhaps much of it I'll never use in the books, but I have to know in detail what magic can and cannot do in order to set the parameters and establish the stories' internal logic.

To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.

There will be books written about Harry. Every child in the world will know his name.

Think your little jokes'll help you on your deathbed?" she jeered. "Jokes? No,no, these are manners," replied Dumbledore.

That wand’s more trouble than it’s worth,” said Harry. “And quite honestly,” he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower, and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, “I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.

Anything's possible if you've got enough nerve. I was determined to try. I was determined to try because, frankly, my life was such a mess at this point, what - what was the worst that could happen? Everyone turn me down? Big deal.