Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.
Where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people also.
It was important Dumbledore said, to fight and fight again, and to continue fighting, for only that way could evil be kept at bay, even if it couldn't be completely irradicates.
Neville's childhood had been blighted by Voldemort just as much as Harry's had, but Neville had no idea how close he had come to having Harry's destiny. The prophecy could have referred to either of them, yet, for his own inscrutable reasons, Voldemort had chosen to believe that Harry was the one meant. Had Voldemort chosen Neville, it would be Neville sitting opposite Harry bearing the lightning-shaped scar and the weight of the prophecy... Or would it? Would Neville's mother have died to save him, as Lily had died for Harry? Surely she would... But what if she had been unable to stand between her son and Voldemort? Would there then have been no "Chosen One" at all? An empty seat where Neville now sat and a scarless Harry who would have been kissed good-bye by his own mother, not Ron's?
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.
"He'll be all right", murmured Ginny.
As Harry looked at her, he lowered his hand absentmindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead.
"I know he will". The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.
The dead lay in a row in the middle of the Hall. Harry could not see Fred's body, because his family surrounded him. George was kneeling at his head; Mrs. Weasley was lying across Fred's chest, her body shaking. Mr. Weasley stroking her hair while tears cascaded down his cheeks.
Without a word to Harry, Ron and Hermione walked away. Harry saw Hermione approach Ginny, whose face was swollen and blotchy, and hug her. Ron joined Bill, Fleur, and Percy, who flung an arm around Ron's shoulders. As Ginny and Hermione moved closer to the rest of the family, Harry had a clear view of the bodies lying next to Fred. Remus and Tonks, pale and still and peaceful-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling. The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink, as Harry reeled backward from the doorway. He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him.
Being able to fall asleep when one is tired and being able to let off a weight that has been lugged for a long time, is a delight, a marvellous fact. Since we dug our grave I have been more delighted and satisfied than how I had ever been in years.
I stepped into the bookshop and breathed in that perfume of paper and magic that strangely no one had ever thought of bottling.
Se wondered if the moment would ever arrive in her life where she wouldn't have thought of him,, she wouldn't have heard him talking in her mind, she wouldn't have relived every moment spent with him, she wouldn't have desired his voice, his hands, his love. She never thought how it would have been like to love someone that much; of all the things that had disconcerted her in her adventures, this one was the most disconcerting. She thought that the tenderness he had left in her heart was like a bruise that would've never left, but that she would have treasured for ever.