I had a million different dreams but none of them was stronger than the rest. In the end they probably would have paralyzed me.
The rhythm of the footsteps, the sound of whatever is coming down the ladder is driving both me and my mom steadily toward peeing our pants.
It's the wrong way. She's farther away from the door now. It occurs to me that some people only have book smarts.
They shot one of ours.” The lines deepened around his grey eyes. “I’d waste the whole army for spilling a drop of my crew’s blood.
With each beat, the heart pumps nearly three ounces of blood into the arteries--seventy-five to ninety gallons an hour when the body is at rest.
For this wire is as a part of our body, as a vein torn from us, glowing with our blood. Are we proud of this thread of metal, or of our hands which made it, or is there a line to divide these two?
LOOK AT MY BLOOD FLOWERS, BECAUSE I WRITE WITH A SERENE SHARP BLADE THAT SOOTHES. AS MUCH AS CUTS INTO THE DEEPEST PARTS OF MY SOUL.
There may be no English word as bent and broken by casual misuse, or drained of blood by idealizing admirers and apologists, or grossly caricatured by huckstering detractors, as church.
This is one of my favorite things about the Underground: the crashing of the cymbals, the screeching guitar riffs, music that moves into the blood and makes you feel hot and wild and alive.
Dumbledore raised his finger for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Uncle Vernon dumb.
Somewhere out in the darkness, a phoenix was singing in a way Harry had never heard before: a stricken lament of terrible beauty.
It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them with a loving caress in his voice?
It was important, Dumbledore said, to fight, and fight again, and keep fighting, for only then could evil be kept at bay, though never quite eradicated. . . .
I am not worried, Harry," said Dumbledore, his voice a little stronger despite the freezing water. "I am with you.
Nobody's ever asked me to a party before, as a friend. Is that why you dyed your eyebrow, for the party? Should I do mine too?
I was supposed to be waiting up here when you got back, only your Phoenix lot got in the way...” “Yes, they do that,” said Dumbledore.
Why are you worrying about YOU-KNOW-WHO, when you should be worrying about YOU-NO-POO? The constipation sensation that's gripping the nation!
Why are you worrying about you-know-who? You should be worrying about u-no-poo! The constipation sensation that's gripping the nation!
And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her.
Dumbledore's man through and through, aren't you Potter?" "Yeah I am," said Harry. "Glad we straightened that out.
I just wish I’d asked you sooner. We could’ve had ages . . . months . . . years maybe. . . .
