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It is indeed my opinion now that evil in never "radical," that is only extreme, and that it possesses neither depth nor any demonic dimension. It can overgrow and lay waste the whole world precisely because it spreads like a fungus on the surface. It is "thought-defying," as I said, because thought tries to reach some depth, to go to the roots, and the moment it concerns itslef with evil, it is frustrated because there is nothing. That is its "banality." Only the good has depth and can be radical.

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" He was not stupid. It was sheer thoughtlessness. That such remoteness from reality and such thoughtlessness can wreak more havoc than all the evil instincts taken together which, perhaps, are inherent in man - that was, in fact, the lesson one could learn in Jerusalem. But it was a lesson, neither an explanation of the phenomenon nor a theory about it.

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The deeds were monstrous, but the doer--at least, the very effective one now on trial--was quite ordinary, commonplace, and neither monstrous nor demonic.

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As he lay there, he became aware suddenly
that the grounds were silent. Fawkes had stopped singing. And he knew, without knowing how he knew it, that ilie phoenix had gone, had left Hogwarts for good, just as Dumbledore had left the school, had left the world...had left Harry.

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But he understood at last what Dumbledore had been trying to tell him. It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high.
Some people, perhaps, would say that there was little to choose between the two ways, but Dumbledore knew - and so do I, thought Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, and so did my parents - that there was all the difference in the world.

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Only dead fishes go with the stream.

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Within a sun beam that come inside from the window, sometimes we see the life in the air. And we call it dust.

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Josh thought that human beings are strange creatures. They are many different things all at once, and they feel so many contrasting emotions.
Love and hate, joy and dispair, courage and fear. As if they were great turning discs, of possible and imaginable colours, upon which the light constantly moves, dancing. It divides again all those faces, young and old, that laughed and cried. As if age didn't count: at seventeen of seventy, the disc was always there, spinning away. Maybe as time went by it always became slightly more simple to recognise colours and to know with certainty what you were looking at and what it meant.

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From nature he had too big soul to be an usual seducer. He desired something totally arbitrary, a greeting for example, and would accept no more at any price, because that was the most beautiful thing about the other person.

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And then the thought of another woman in those arms, of another woman breathing that warm and familiar smell, that had always been hers, only hers, hit her in the chest and she clasped her arms around her breast as if to push it away.