The fame thing is interesting because I never wanted to be famous, and I never dreamt I would be famous. You know, my fantasy of being a famous writer, and again there's a slight disconnect with reality which happens a lot with me. I imagined being a famous writer would be like being like Jane Austen.

Love is the strongest power there is.

The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive.

You foul, lying, evil little cockroach!

Everything that fails brings you closer to what works.

The world had ended, so why had the battle not ceased, the castle fallen silent in horror, and every combatant laid down their arms? Harry's mind was in freefall, spinning out of control, unable to grasp the impossiblity, because Fred Weasley could not be dead, the evidence of all his senses must be lying -

Voldemort’s fury at the fall of his last, best lieutenant exploded with the force of a bomb.