The Post about Quotes...because I'm bored. :)

   That which Voldemort does not value, he takes no trouble to comprehend. Of house-elves and children’s tales, of love, loyalty, and innocence, Voldemort knows and understands nothing. Nothing. That they all have a power beyond his own, a power beyond the reach of any magic, is a truth he has never grasped.
    
   Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, then we say good-bye for the present.
  
Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?”


“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”


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"A book?"


"That's right. When I was your age, television was called books. And this is a special book. It was the book my father used to read to me when I was sick, and I used to read it to your father. And today I'm gonna read it to you."

"Has it got any sports in it?"

"Are you kidding? Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles..."

"Doesn't sound too bad. I'll try to stay awake."

"Oh, well, thank you very much, very nice of you. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming."

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"What she really loved was to hang over the edge and watch the bow of the ship slice through the waves. She loved it especially when the waves were high and the ship rose and fell, or when it was snowing and the flakes stung her face."  - Graceling, Kristin Caashore

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"He will think that every wood is full of Faries, that a glassman sleeps on every table---so long as theres some parchment on it---that books are written by hand, and that the most famous illuminators paints with his left hand because his right is made of leather. He will think that strolling players breath fire and perform comic plays in every marketplace, that women always wear long dreses, And that soldiers stand at every gate."
- Inkdeath, Cornelia Funke