Death Quote by J.K. Rowling — Inspiring Words on Life, Love & Wisdom

“Do you remember me telling you we are practicing non-verbal spells, Potter?”

“I never know," Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "What's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?”

“Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore.”

“And Death spoke to them —’”

“I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing... maybe you've got to attack him while he's in the shower, Harry.”

“She picked up the book and then walked back past him into the tent, but as she did so, she brushed the top of his head lightly with her hand. He closed his eyes at her touch, and hated himself for wishing that what she said was true: that Dumbledore had really cared.”

“Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up thine altar here, and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thy command: for this is thy dominion! But of the loved, revered, and honoured head, thou canst not turn one hair to thy dread purposes, or make one feature odious. It is not that the hand is heavy and will fall down when released; it is not that the heart and pulse are still; but that the hand was open, generous, and true; the heart brave, warm, and tender; and the pulse a man's. Strike, Shadow, strike! And see his good deeds springing from the wound, to sow the world with life immortal.”

“One of them had something small and black in his hand that Johnson very much feared was  a gun. He was considering his options when he saw Goldberg’s head emerge above the latch door.”

“What do you want to do with your life, then?” is often the question I'm asked.”

“On many counts, taking a boy like Rudy Steiner was robbery--so much life, so much to live for--yet somehow, I'm certain he would have loved to see the frightening rubble and the swelling of the sky on the night he passed away. He'd have cried and turned and smiled if only he could have seen the book thief on her hands and knees, next to his decimated body. He'd have been glad to witness her kissing his dusty, bomb-hit lips.”

“Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.”