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

“Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love.

It is a curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it.

walking had given the illusion that they had a goal.

He looked out over the ocean and felt closer, this dawn, than ever before, closer to the heart of it all.

HERE LIES DOBBY, A FREE ELF.

And Dumbledore had known that Harry would not duck out, that he would keep going to the end, even though it was his end, because he had taken trouble to get to know him, hadn’t he?

his mind full of those things that had come to him in the grave, ideas that had taken shape in the darkness, ideas both fascinating and terrible.

It was not, after all, so easy to die. Every second he breathed, the smell of the grass, the cool air on his face, was so precious: To think that people had years and years, time to waste, so much time it dragged, and he was clinging to each second.