“...an everlasting funeral marches round your heart.”

“The everlasting lure of round-the-corner, how fascinating it is.”

“The cold stars spun to the ancient rhythm, the august march of an everlasting symphony. They are old, the stars, and their memory is long.”

“Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march.”

“The night-sigh comes and funeral march of years repeat, and ebb away. And in a golden glass I see the dream-wished day appear - and wait.”

“This is wine," Ghoolion said solemnly. "Wine is drinkable sunlight. It's the most glorious summer's day imaginable, captured in a bottle. Wine can be a melody in a cut-glass goblet, but it can also be a cacophony in a dirty tumbler, or a rainy autumn night, or a funeral march that scorches your tongue.”