“I'm not the world's greatest expert, but I would have thought that the wizards, witches, trolls, unicorns, ... broomsticks and spells would have given her a clue?' - when J.K. Rowling insisted she wasn't writing fantasy.”

“...she wasn't reading Deathly Hallows at all. Her book wasn't orange but rose and water and sand, and featured a kid on a broomstick and white unicorn. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. She didn't notice me staring at her. 'Oh, I envy you,' I thought, but was smiling for her. She had just begun.”

“We want to fight.”“And I want J.K. Rowling to keep writing in the Potterverse, but I know that’s never going to happen,” I said blithely.”

“Witch's spell or not, he would take her, possess her- own her. It wasn't his intent when he kissed her. Fires of damnation! He never planned to kiss the wench! It just...happened.”

“It would not be completely unreasonable to suggest that if J.K. Rowling, Dan Brown, and Dean Koontz were to get together in a time machine and travel back to early 1982 so that they could have a drunken, care-free, passionate orgy with Douglas Adams, that I might have been the love child of such a coming together.”

“There was still one response, the greatest, that she had missed. She thought: To find a feeling that would hold, as their sum, as their final expression, the purpose of all the things she loved on earth... To find a consciousness like her own, who would be the meaning of her world, as she would be of his... No, not Francisco d'Anconia, not Hank Rearden, not any man she had ever met or admired... A man who existed only in her knowledge of her capacity for an emotion she had never felt, but would have given her life to experience.”