Quotes by J.K. Rowling

Anything is possible if youve got enough nerve

Hello, Harry said George, beaming at him. We thought we heard your dulcet tones.You dont want to bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out, said Fred, also beaming. There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didnt hear you.

Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?

Just think how many books I couldve sold if Harry had been a bit more creative with his wand. -[On the success of 50 Shades of Grey]

Whos Kreacher?The house-elf who lives here, said Ron. Nutter. Never met one like him.He is not a nutter, said Hermione.His lifes ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on a plaque like his mother, said Ron. Is that normal, Hermione?

Sure you can manage that broom, Potter? said a cold, drawling voice.Draco Malfoy had arrived for a closer look, Crabbe and Goyle right behind him.Yeah, reckon so, said Harry casually.Got plenty of special features, hasnt it? said Malfoy, eyes glittering maliciously. Shame it doesnt come with a parachute - in case you get too near a Dementor.Crabbe and Goyle sniggered.Pity you cant attach an extra arm to yours, Malfoy, said Harry. Then it could catch the Snitch for you.

Ah! Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavored one, and since then I’m afraid I’ve rather lost my liking for them — but I think I’ll be safe with a nice toffee, don’t you?”He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth.“Alas! Ear wax!

But I don’t think I’ve ever known such a natural at Potions!” said Slughorn. “Instinctive, you know — like his mother! I’ve only ever taught a few with this kind of ability, I can tell you that, Sybill — why even Severus —”And to Harry’s horror, Slughorn threw out an arm and seemed to scoop Snape out of thin air toward them.

Ive decided to call him Norbert, said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Wheres Mummy?Hes lost his marbles, Ron muttered in Harrys ear.Hagrid, said Harry loudly, give it a fortnight and Norberts going to be as big as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment.Hagrid bit his lip.I- I know I cant jus dump him, I cant.Harry suddenly turned to Ron.Charlie, he said.Youre losing it too, said Ron. Im Ron, remember?

If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

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.

Draco Malfoy is a bad boy! squeaked Dobby angrily.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and scratched his beard. Shouldnta lost me temper, he said ruefully, but it didnt work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasnt much left ter do.

Fred and George turned to each other and said together, “Wow — we’re identical!

I do know a few things, actually. I know you have rather backwards laws about relations with non-magic people. That youre not mean to befriend them, that you cant marry them, which seems mildly absurd to me.

Children being children, however, the grotesque Hopping Pot had taken hold of their imaginations. The solution was to jettison the pro-Muggle moral but keep the warty cauldron, so by the middle of the sixteenth century a different version of the tale was in wide circulation among wizarding families. In the revised story, the Hopping Pot protects an innocent wizard from his torch-bearing, pitchfork-toting neighbours by chasing them away from the wizards cottage, catching them and swallowing them whole.

Somewhere out in the darkness, a phoenix was singing in a way Harry had never heard before: a stricken lament of terrible beauty. And Harry felt, as he had felt about phoenix song before, that the music was inside him, not without: It was his own grief turned magically to song..

You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you’ll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no . . . anything. There’s no chance at all of recovery. You’ll just — exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever . . . lost.

I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost . . . but still, I was alive.

She had a way of moving that moved him as much as music, which was what moved him most of all. Surely the spirit animating that pearless body must be unusual too? Why would nature make a vessel like that, if not to contain something still more valuable?