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It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.

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The young girl totally absorbed me, without me joining the general conversation. I felt her living and moving like surrounded by a gentle music, and the delicate, deep fascination of her being encircled me dense, sweet and strong like the scent of a flower. As much as good this was for me, I could feel without a doubt that seeing her could not calm me and satisfy me and that the pain, if I would be again separated from her, would have become much more excruciating. In the delicate person of her, my fate and the flourishing spring of my life seemed to look at me, that I had to grab and to hold, because they would nevercome back. It was not a physical desire of kisses and of a night of love...It was more a pleased confidence that in that dear figure my destiny wanted to meet me, and that the spirit of her was friend to me, and that my happiness had also to be hers.

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You don't know what it means! You... none of you... has had to do anything of the sort! Do you think that learning by heart a couple of spells and conjuring them against him, as we do in class is enough? But there is nothing between you and your death other than... your brain, your liver, or something... how can you reason when you know that in a split second you will be assasined, tortured or see your friends die.

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Dumbledore will have left the school truly only when there is no one faithful to him anymore.

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I'm not the weapon after all, thought Harry. His heart swelled with happiness and relief, and he felt like joining in as they heard Sirius tramping past their door towards Buckbeak's room, singing "God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs" at the top of his voice.

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"Is there a man in the world who, being able to ask, doesn't do so?"
"There is Count De La Fère, madam; Count De La Fère is not a man"
"And what is he?"
"Count De La Fère is a demigod."

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The law of the wise teddy bear says: it's better a good book at the loo than a shitty book in the living room.

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Ginny looked up into Harry's face, took a deep breath, and said, "Happy seventeenth."
"Yeah. . . thanks."
She was looking at him steadily; he, however, found it difficult to look back at her; it was like gazing into a brilliant light.
"Nice view," he said feebly, pointing toward the window.
She ignored this. He could not blame her, "I couldn't think what to get you," she said.
"You didn't have to get me anything." She disregarded this too.
"I didn't know what would be useful. Nothing too big, because you wouldn't be able to take it with you."
He chanced a glance at her. She was not tearful; that was one of the many wonderful things about Ginny, she was rarely weepy. He had sometimes thought that having six brother must have toughened her up. She took a step closer to him.
"So then I thought, I'd like you to have something to remember me by, you know, if you meet some veela when you're off doing whatever you're doing."
"I think dating opportunities are going to be pretty thin on the ground, to be honest."
"There's the silver lining I've been looking for," she whispered, and then she was kissing him as she had never kissed him before, and Harry was kissing her back, and it was blissful oblivion better than firewhisky; she was the only real thing in the world, Ginny, the feel of her, one hand at her back and one in her long, sweet-smelling hair.

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Slow and steady wins the race, but who stops doesn't go in front.

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I don't know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.