Quote

Does it hurt? The childish question had escaped Harry's lips before he could stop it. Dying? Not at all, said Sirius. Quicker and easier than falling asleep.

J. K. Rowling

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J. K. Rowling
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: July 31
Author
Executive Producer
Film Producer
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
Yate
Gloucestershire
Joanne Jo Murray
Joanne Kathleen Rowling
JK
JKR
Robert Galbraith
Joanne Rowling
Fall
Asleep
Doe
Falling
Lips
Dying
Sirius
Easier
Escaped
Question
Childish
Hurt
Quicker
Stop
Harry

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As our listeners will know, unless they've taken refuge at the bottom of a garden pond or somewhere similar, You-Know-Who's strategy of remaining in the shadows is creating a nice little climate of panic.
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Probably that you're going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow or something.
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He lay face down, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself.
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In opening them, he discovered that he had eyes.
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Directly above them, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Harry felt a kind of electric charge surge through every particle of his body - they were saved.
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You are the true master of death, because the true master does not seek to run away from Death.
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You can't give a Dementor the old one-two!
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We tried to shut him in a pyramid, but Mum spotted us.
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You never get it right, you people, do you? Either we've got Fudge, pretending everything's lovely while people get murdered right under his nose, or we've got you, chucking the wrong people into jail and trying to pretend you've got 'The Chosen One' working for you!
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I will carry on writing, to be sure. But I don't know if I would want to publish again after Harry Potter.
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Her grief was so big and wild it terrified her, like an evil beast that had erupted from under the floorboards.
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I don't need to publish to make a living.
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You'd better hurry up, they'll be waiting for 'the Chosen Captain' — 'The Boy Who Scored'— whatever they call you these days.
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Killing rips the soul apart.
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One can never have enough socks, said Dumbledore. Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.
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Overload 'em with information an' they'll kill yeh jus' to simplify things.
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It's our choices, more than anything, that show who we really are.
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It was as though they had been plunged into a fabulous dream. This, thought Harry, was surely the only way to travel - past swirls and turrets of snowy cloud, in a car full of hot, bright sunlight, with a fat pack of toffees in the glove compartment.
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Instead (Harry) contented himself with scrawling a note to Ron: Let's do it tonight.
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Well you seemed too busy to call him a prat and I thought someone should.
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