JK Rowling created seven Horcruxes. She put a part of her soul in every book and now her books will live forever

How else could he go on, except with merciful incomprehension held before him like a shield? How could anyone?

Maybe there's a whole other universe where a square moon rises in the sky, and the stars laugh in cold voices, and some of the triangles have four sides, and some have five, and some have five raised to the fifth power of sides. In this universe there might grow roses which sing. Everything leads to everything.

They're animals, all right. But why are you so goddam sure that makes us human beings?

No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don't.

The simple truth of things is that bad dreams are far better than bad wakings.

The dream might have been more than a dream. It was as if a door in the wall of reality had come ajar... and now all sorts of unwelcome things were flying through.