I write nearly every day. Some days I write for ten or eleven hours. Other days I might only write for three hours. It really depends on how fast the ideas are coming.
Shh! Listen! Someone’s coming! I think — I think it might be us!
You might belong in Hufflepuff, Where they are just and loyal, Those patient Hufflepuffs are true, And unafraid of toil.
She was actively frightened of imparting confidences, because she feared that they might betray the world of oddness that lived inside her
She was on edge, feeling that she might snap or cry at the smallest provocation.
Gavin saw a grave purely as a marker for the place where a corpse was decomposing; a nasty thought, yet people took it into their heads to visit and bring flowers, as though it might yet recover.
Well — I was lucky once, wasn't I?” said Harry, pointing at his scar. “I might get lucky again.
Always have a vivid imagination, for you never know when you might need it.
Professor Snape was forcing them to research antidotes. They took this one seriously, as he had hinted that he might be poisoning one of them before Christmas to see if their antidote worked.
...someone might slip dragon dung in it again eh, Perce?" said Fred. "That was a sample of fertiliser from Norway!" said Percy, going very red in the face, "It was nothing personal!" "It was," Fred whispered to Harry, as they got up from the table. "We sent it.
The idea of Dumbledore's corpse frightened Harry much less than the possibility that he might have misunderstood the living Dumbledore's intentions.
I just hate meetings. Though it's true that once you've made a lot of money, people around you might be full of ideas about ways to make lots more money and might be disappointed that you don't want to seize every opportunity to do so.
One more lesson like that and I might just do a Weasley.
It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, it had been a quite personal question.
Yes, Harry, blessed as I am with extraordinary brainpower, I understood everything you told me. I think you might even consider the possibility that I understood more than you did.
I cared more about your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.
He might have crawled up into the airing cupboard and died, but I mustn't get my hopes up.
Ah, Harry, how often this happens, even between the best of friends! Each of us believes that what he has to say is much more important than anything the other might have to contribute!
I'm going to keep going until I succeed — or die. Don't think I don't know how this might end. I've known it for years.