Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all... - J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

"Hello, Minister!"bellowed Percy, sending a neat jinx straight at Thicknesse, who dropped his wand and clawed at the front of his robes, apparently in awful discomfort. "Did I mention I'm resigning?"

"He can run faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo."

"How do you feel, Georgie?"whispered Mrs. Weasley.George's fingers groped for the side of his head."Saintlike,"he murmured."What's wrong with him?"croaked Fred, looking terrified. "Is his mind affected?""Saintlike,"repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. "You see...I'm HOLEY, Fred, geddit?"

"Seventeen, eh!"said Hagrid as he accepted a bucket-sized glass of wine from Fred."Six years to the day we met, Harry, d’yeh remember it?""Vaguely,"said Harry, grinning up at him. "Didn’t you smash down the front door, give Dudley a pig’s tail, and tell me I was a wizard?""I forge’ the details,"Hagrid chortled."

"She picked up the book and then walked back past him into the tent, but as she did so, she brushed the top of his head lightly with her hand. He closed his eyes at her touch, and hated himself for wishing that what she said was true: that Dumbledore had really cared."