On and on they flew, over the countryside parceled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscapes like strips of matte and glossy ribbon.

I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost . . . but still, I was alive.

Oh, shut up Weatherby.

It's the same story with a few crucial additions; the most important one is you.

I am not a particularly thick-skinned person.

Personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a checklist of acquisition. Your qualifications are not your life.

A Horcrux is the complete opposite of a human being.