“Sir, you have now given me my 'cadeau;' I am obliged to you: it is the meed teachers most covet-praise of their pupils' progress.”

“My name, sir, is Virgilia Wessex. I am a Sunday school teacher from Sussex, England, and I have given you no leave to address me as anything.”His mouth seemed to almost smile, but if so, he caught it just on the brink and decided against it. “Well, I’ve just given the gent who found you first an obscene amount of money to address you however I please… Gillia.”

“You think my gait 'spasmodic' - I am in danger - Sir - You think me 'uncontrolled' - I have no Tribunal.”

“A game master or teacher who was primarily concerned with being close enough to the "innermost meaning" would be a very bad teacher. To be candid, I myself, for example, have never in my life said a word to my pupils about the "meaning" of music; if there is one it does not need my explanations. On the other hand I have always made a great point of having my pupils count their eighths and sixteenths nicely. Whatever you become, teacher, scholar, or musician, have respect for the "meaning" but do not imagine that it can be taught.”

“I’m a teacher! A teacher, Potter! How dare yeh threaten ter break down my door!”“I’m sorry, sir,” said Harry, emphasizing the last word.Hagrid looked stunned. “Since when have yeh called me ‘sir’?” “Since when have you called me ‘Potter’?”

“Ash, it's because of you that I am here today. You have always been there, never wavering, protecting me with no thought for yourself. You've been my teacher, my knight and my only love. Now it's my turn to make that promise.”