I sat and thought for four (delayed train) hours, and all the details bubbled up in my brain, and this scrawny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who didn't know he was a wizard became more and more real to me.

He [Uncle Vernon] held up the envelope in which Mrs. Weasley’s letter had come, and Harry had to fight down a laugh. Every bit of it was covered in stamps except for a square inch on the front, into which Mrs. Weasley had squeezed the Dursleys’ address in minute writing. “She did put enough stamps on, then,” said Harry, trying to sound as though Mrs. Weasley’s was a mistake anyone could make.

Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?

You’re not supposed to dislike your own child. You were supposed to like them no matter what, even if they were not what you wanted.

"Oh, of course," said Ron, clapping a hand to his forehead. "I forgot we'll be hunting down Voldemort in a mobile library."

Magic has universal appeal. I don't believe in magic in the way that I describe in my books, but I'd love it to be real.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar - a cat reading a map.