Would you like me to [kill you] now?" asked Snape, his voice heavy with irony. "Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?

Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother?

But you're dead," said Harry. "Oh yes," said Dumbledore matter-of-factly. "Then...I'm dead too?" "Ah," said Dumbledore, smiling still more broadly. "That is the question, isn't it? On the whole, dear boy, I think not.” They looked at each other, the old man still beaming. "Not?" repeated Harry. "Not," said Dumbledore. "But…" Harry raised his hand instinctively toward the lightning scar. It did not seem to be there. "But I should have died—I didn't defend myself! I meant to let him kill me!" "And that," said Dumbledore, "will, I think, have made all the difference.

Magic causes as much trouble as it cures.

I've been writing my entire life, and I'll always write. But at times I have told myself that I don't necessarily have to publish anything else.

And this is Nymphadora-" "Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus," said the young witch with a shudder. "It's Tonks." "-Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only," finished Lupin. "So would you if your fool of a mother had called you 'Nymphadora,' " muttered Tonks.

Dumbledore would have been happier than anybody to think that there was a little more love in the world.