PonderingsandWanderings

From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe. She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears. “After all this time?” “Always,” said Snape.”

To learn to read is to light a fire; every syllable that is spelled out is a spark.

Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.

What pricks me is the discovery of this equivalence. In front of the photograph of my mother as a child, I tell myself: She is going to die: I shudder… over a catastrophe which has already occurred. Whether or not the subject is already dead, every photograph is this catastrophe.”

In his life so far he had only known the kind of doubt that is calculated and secure. He had known only suspicion, cynicism, probability - never the fearful unraveling that comes when one ceases to trust in one's own trusting power; never the dread panic that follows this unraveling; never the dull void that follows last of all.