Joanne Rowling Quotes
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Professor, why couldn't we just Apparate directly into your old colleague's house?' 'Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door,' said Dumbledore. 'Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry.
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You could say sorry," suggested Harry bluntly. "What, and get attacked by another flock of canaries?" muttered Ron. "What did you have to imitate her for?" "She laughed at my mustache!" "So did I, it was the stupidest thing I've ever seen.
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Harry - you're a great wizard, you know." "I'm not as good as you," said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him. "Me!" said Hermione. "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things - friendship and bravery and - oh Harry - be careful!
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I haven’t got the heart to take the mickey out of him, even,” said Fred, looking over at Ron’s crumpled figure. “Mind you . . . when he missed the fourteenth . . .” He made wild motions with his arms as though doing an upright doggy-paddle. “Well, I’ll save it for parties, eh?
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Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs.
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Like the fact that the person Sirius cared for the most about in the world was you," said Dumbledore quietly.
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But you're dead,' said Harry. 'Oh, yes,' said Dumbledore matter-of-factly. 'Then... am I dead too?' 'Ah,' said Dumbledore, smiling still more broadly. 'That is the question, isn't it? On the whole, dear boy, I think not.
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What are we doing here? Has something gone wrong?” “Oh no, Ron,” came Fred’s voice, very sarcastically. “No, this is exactly where we wanted to end up.
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Sometimes you have to stop trying to force it, walk away and let your subconscious show you the way. Fill up on life for a while.
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And sure enough, in seeking to become superhuman this foolhardy young man renders himself inhuman. The heart that he has locked away slowly shrivels and grows hair, symbolising his own descent to beasthood.
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Although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.
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Then she was kissing him as she had never kissed him before...and it was blissful oblivion, better than firewhisky; she was the only real thing in the world.
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By the time she had interpreted Harry's dreams at the top of her voice (all of which, even the ones that involved eating porridge, apparently foretold a gruesome and early death), he was feeling much less sympathetic toward her.
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I'm a what?" gasped Harry. "A wizard, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good'un I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be?
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I can write anywhere. I made up the names of the characters on a sick bag while I was on an airplane. I told this to a group of kids and a boy said, "Ah, no, that's disgusting." And I said, "Well, I hadn't used the sick bag."
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Yes, it has made me happier. Finishing them has made me happier. Before I wrote the Potter books, I'd never finished a novel. I came close to finishing two.
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You think the dead we loved truly ever leave us? You think that we don't recall them more clearly in times of great trouble?
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Ginny, listen... I can’t be involved with you anymore. We’ve got to stop seeing each other. We can’t be together.” “It’s for some stupid, noble reason, isn’t it?
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Harry had the impression that even the barman was listening in. He was wiping the same glass with the filthy rag; it was becoming steadily dirtier.
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I write nearly every day. Some days I write for ten or eleven hours. Other days I might only write for three hours. It really depends on how fast the ideas are coming.
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That's the perennial appeal of magic - that we ourselves have power and we can shape our world. I sometimes think its very analogous to having a lot of money that people think - 'cause that's kind of like a super power.
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Malfoy glanced around. Harry knew he was checking for signs of teachers. Then he looked back at Harry and said in a low voice, "You're dead, Potter." Harry raised his eyebrows. "Funny," he said, "you'd think I'd have stopped walking around.
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Every hour that passed added to her grief, because it bore her further away from the living man, and because it was a tiny foretaste of the eternity she would have to spend without him.
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Dumbledore was on his feet again, pale as any of the surrounding Inferi, but taller than any too, the fire dancing in his eyes; his wand was raised like a torch and from its tip emanated the flames, like a vast lasso, encircling them all with warmth.