Your Great Puddin' Of A Son Don'

In The End, Love Wins. It Does Win. We Know It Wins. When A Person Dies, Love Isn’t Turned Off Like A Faucet. It Is An Amazingly Resilient Part Of Us.

I Love You, Hermione,” Said Ron, Sinking Back, Rubbing His Eyes Wearily. Hermione Turned Faintly Pink, But Merely Said, “don’t Let Lavender Hear You Saying That.” “i Won’t,” Said Ron Into His Hands. “or Maybe I Will . . . Then She’ll Ditch Me . . .

The Hook-nosed Teacher Looked Past Quirrell’s Turban Straight Into Harry’s Eyes — And A Sharp, Hot Pain Shot Across The Scar On Harry’s Forehead.

You Have To Resign Yourself To The Fact That You Waste A Lot Of Trees Before You Write Anything You Really Like, And That's Just The Way It Is. It's Like Learning An Instrument, You've Got To Be Prepared For Hitting Wrong Notes Occasionally, Or Quite A Lot, Cause I Wrote An Awful Lot Before I Wrote Anything I Was Really Happy With. And Read A Lot. Reading Really Helps. Read Anything You Can Get Your Hands On.

I Think That Perhaps If I Had Had To Slow Down The Ideas So That I Could Capture Them On Paper I Might Have Stifled Some Of Them.