“It’s your one last chance,” said Harry, “it’s all you’ve got left. . . .I’ve seen what you’ll be otherwise. . . . Be a man . . . try . . . Try for some remorse. . . .”

“Being a mother is like trying to hold a wolf by the ears,” Gram said. “If you have three or four –or more – chickabiddies, you’re dancing on a hot griddle all the time. You don’t have time to think about anything else. And if you’ve only got one or two, it’s almost harder. You have room left over – empty spaces that you think you’ve got to fill up.”

“It’s like trying to describe a color you’ve never seen before. Words can’t make you understand what real love is like. But until you’ve felt it … you haven’t really lived.”

“Too late. I’ve already seen the blush. Stop trying to hide it from me. I think it’s adorable.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Jess . That’s what you’ve got to understand. You have to stop people like that. Otherwise they turn into tyrants and dictators.”

“Oh, come on, Harry,” said Hermione, suddenly impatient. “It’s not Quidditch that’s popular, it’s you! You’ve never been more interesting, and frankly, you’ve never been more fanciable.”