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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
John Tiffany
No luck or love for me, then.
“The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.”
Well, as fun as you clearly look, I have to go after my friend.
Honestly, every time I sit down now I make an “ooof” noise. An “ooof.” And my feet — the trouble I’m having with my feet — I could write songs about the pain my feet give me
Ah really, what does my opinion matter anymore? I am paint and memory, Harry, paint and memory.
I thought for a long time I wasn’t a good enough dad for you because you didn’t like me. It’s only now I realize that I don’t need you to like me, I need you to obey me because I’m your dad and I do know better. I’m sorry, Albus. It has to be this way.
People say parenting is the hardest job in the world — they’re wrong — growing up is. We all just forget how hard it was.
A dog — he’s transfigured a stone into a dog — dog diggity, Cedric Diggory — you are a doggy dynamo.
Strange, isn’t it? What comes from within.
But if the prophecy is inevitable why are we here trying to influence it? Your actions contradict your thoughts: You’re dragging us through this maze because you believe this prophecy needs to be enabled — and, by that logic, prophecies can also be broken — prevented.
Burn
HARRY: “Love blinds us”? Do you even know what that means? Do you even know how bad that advice was? My son is — my son is fighting battles for us just as I had to for you. And I have proved as bad a father to him as you were to me. Leaving him in places he felt unloved — growing in him resentments he’ll take years to understand — DUMBLEDORE: If you’re referring to Privet Drive, then — HARRY: Years — years I spent there alone, without knowing what I was, or why I was there, without knowing that anybody cared!
Those that we love never truly leave us, Harry. There are things that death cannot touch. Paint . . . and memory . . . and love.
The Boy Who Lived. How many people have to die for the Boy Who Lived?
