“Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and scratched his beard. 'Shouldn'ta lost me temper,' he said ruefully, 'but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do.”

“They were bullyin' him, Hermione, 'cause he's so small!" said Hagrid."Small?" said Hermione. "Small?""Hermione, I couldn't leave him," said Hagrid, tears now trickling down his bruised face into his beard. "See -- he's my brother!”

“No, he wasn't a pig. He was a lonely, hurt man who didn't know how to cope in a world that had turned its back on him. [Astrid]”

“With the ferrule of his walking-stick Denis began to scratch the boar's long bristly back. The animal moved a little so as to bring himself within easier range of the instrument that evoked in him such delicious sensations; then he stood stock still, softly grunting his contentment. The mud of years flaked off his sides in a grey powdery scurf. "What a pleasure it is," said Denis, "to do somebody a kindness. I believe I enjoy scratching this pig quite as much as he enjoys being scratched. If only one could always be kind with so little expense or trouble...”

“The pig winks and rolls in the bog. He kicks his legs up and his trotters clack together. The sun is low over the neighbourhood. There is the smell of oncoming night, of pollen settling, the sounds of kids fighting bath time. Lester comes down, waving his hands.Don't drown the pig, Fish. We're saving him for Christmas! We're gonna eat him.No!I'll drink to that, says the pig.Lester stands there. He looks at Fish. He looks at the porker. He peeps over the fence. The pig. The flamin' pig. The pig has just spoken. It's no language that he can understand, but there's no doubt. He feels a little crook, like maybe he should go over to that tree and puke. I like him, Lestah.He talks?Yep.Oh, my gawd.Lester looks at his retarded son again and once more at the pig.The pig talks.I likes him.Yeah, I bet.The pig snuffles, lets off a few syllables: aka sembon itwa. It's tongues, that's what it is. A blasted Pentecostal pig.And you understand him?Yep. I likes him.Always the miracles you don't need. It's not a simple world, Fish. It's not.”

“You don't speak much, do you?" ter Borcht said, circling him slowly.Fittingly, Fang said nothing.Vhy do you let a girl be de leader?" ter Borcht asked, a calculating look in his eye.She's the tough one," Fang said.Dang right, I thought proudly.Is dere anysing special about you?" asked ter Borcht. "Anysing vorth saving?"Fang pretended to think, gazing up at the ceiling. "Besides my fashion sense? I play a mean harmonica.”