I loved writing Dumbledore and he is the epitome of goodness.

Directly above them, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Harry felt a kind of electric charge surge through every particle of his body - they were saved.

Once again you've put your keen and penetrating mind to the task and as usual come to the wrong conclusion!

It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high. Some people, perhaps, would say that there was little to choose between the two ways, but Dumbledore knew - and so do I, thought Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, and so did my parents - that there was all the difference in the world.

Failure means a stripping away of the inessential.

You don't have sex near unicorns. It's an ironclad rule. It's tacky.

There is no good and evil, there is only power and those too weak to seek it.