Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Harry Potter, #7)

by J.K. Rowling

“I don’t think you’re a waste of space.”

It’s time you learned some respect!” “It’s time you earned it,” said Harry.

An odd symbol, rather like a triangular eye, glistened from a golden chain around his neck.

he can move faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo when he wants to,

His will to live had always been so much stronger than his fear of death.

Why had he never appreciated what a miracle he was, brain and nerve and bounding heart?

It was not, after all, so easy to die. Every second he breathed, the smell of the grass, the cool air on his face, was so precious: To think that people had years and years, time to waste, so much time it dragged, and he was clinging to each second.

He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone.

It is a curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it. Those who, like you, have leadership thrust upon them, and take up the mantle because they must, and find to their own surprise that they wear it well.

“Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love.

“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”

“NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!”