HARRY POTTER AND THE SORCERER'S STONE - J.K. ROWLING

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 297

"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 257

"Do you not see that unicorn?" Firenze bellowed at Bane. "Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must."

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 214

  "Sir--Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"  "Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."  "What do you see when you look in the mirror?"  "I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."  Harry stared.  "One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 213

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling. 

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 209

The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness. 

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 203

Harry watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided. 

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 179

   The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was easting the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking at each other, they all said "Thanks," and hurried off to get plates.    But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them. 

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 137

I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins. 

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 133

Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. 

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 130

Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to him, telling him he must transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was his destiny. Harry told the turban he didn't want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully. 

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 128

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.    "Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here!"

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 120

A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. 

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 118

The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him. 

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 118

You might belong in Hufflepuff,Where they are just and loyal,Those patient Hufflepuffs are trueAnd unafraid of toil;

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 117

Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing--noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. 

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 86

"Don' you worry, Harry. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine."

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 82

Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic. 

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 57

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die."

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 48

Harry looked up at the giant. He meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, "Who are you?"

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 25

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He like to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles. 

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 17

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley... He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter--the boy who lived!"

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Pg 4

Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime. 

WARM BODIES - ISAAC MARION

Warm Bodies - Pg 238

We are silent for a while. We are lying in the grass. Behind us, the battered old Mercedes waits patiently, whispering to us in sizzles and pings as its engine cools. Mercey, Julie named it. Who is this woman lying next to me, so overflowing with life she can grant it to a car" 

Warm Bodies - Pg 228

"I don't know exactly why," he says, "but I'm thrilled to know you, R." 

Warm Bodies - Pg 225

Rosso is struggling for breath, clutching his wrist and ribs, unable to move. He gives Julie a look that pleads forgiveness, not just for this failure but for all the failures leading to it. All the years of knowing and not acting. 

Warm Bodies - Pg 205

We are several hundred monsters and a hundred-pound girl, standing on the edge of their city with fire in our eyes. Deep under our feet Earth holds its molten breath, while the bones of countless generations watch us and wait. 

Warm Bodies - Pg 153

She catches my eye and gives me a sad smile, as if to apologize for not warning me. But I'm not afraid of the skeletons in Julie's closet. I look forward to meeting the rest of them, looking them hard in the eye, gibing them firm, bone-crunching handshakes. 

Warm Bodies - Pg 151

Out here, with the door shut behind us, the pulsing noise of human affairs is gone, replaced by the stoic silence of the truly dead. 

Warm Bodies - Pg 121

Island avenue, where they built the courtyard for the community meetings, where "they" became "we," or so we believed. We cast our votes and raised our leaders, charming men and women with white teeth and silver tongues, and we shoved our many hopes and fears into their hands, believing those hands were strong because they had firm handshakes. They failed us, always. There was no way they could not fail us--they were human, and more importantly, so were we. 

Warm Bodies - Pg 109

I wonder if this is what the world smelled like when it was new, centuries before smokestacks. It frustrates and fascinates me that we'll never know for sure, that despite the best efforts of historians and scientists and poets, there are some things we'll just never know. What the first song sounded like. How it felt to see the first photograph. Who kissed the first kiss, and if it was any good. 

Warm Bodies - Pg 98

You're going to do those things, R murmurs down to Julie, and he and I swap places again. Julie looks up at me, the corpse in the clouds, floating over the ocean like a restless spirit. She gives me a radiant smile, and I know it's not really her, I know nothing I say here will ever escape the confines of my own skull, but I say it anyway. You're going to be strong and beautiful and brilliant, and you're going to live forever. You're going to change the world. 

Warm Bodies - Pg 90

We are both on the very edges of the mattress, about four feet of space between us. I get the feeling that it's not just my ghoulish nature that makes her so wary. Living or Dead, virile or impotent, I sill appear to be a man, and maybe she thinks I'll act the same as any other man would, lying so close to a beautiful woman. Maybe she thinks I'll try to take things from her. That I'll slither over and try to consume her. 

Warm Bodies - Pg 63

   "Then me this isn't the end of the world."   She lies there for a minute, looking up at the sky. Then she sits up and pulls one of her earbuds out of her tangled blond hair. She gently plugs it into my ear.    The warbled strumming of a broken guitar, the swelling of an orchestra, the oohs and ahhs of a studio choir, and John Lennon's weary, woozy voice, singing limitless undying lobe. Everyone playing this song is now bones in a grave, but here they are anyway, exciting and inviting me, calling me on and on. The final fadeout breaks something inside me, and tears squeeze out of my eyes. The brilliant truth and the inescapable lie, sititng side by side just like Julie and I. Can I have both? Can I survive in this doomed world and still love Julie, who dreams above it? For this moment at least, tied to her brain by the white wire between our ears, I feel like I can.    Nothing's gonna change my world, Lennon chants, over and over. Nothing's gonna change my world.    Julie sings a high harmony and I murmur a low. There on the hot white roof of humanity's last outpost, we look out over our rapidly, hopelessly, irretrievable changing world, and we sing:    Nothing's gonna change my world. Nothing's gonna change my world. 

Warm Bodies - Pg 57

   Slowly, I stand up and go over to my record player. I pull out one of my favorite LPs, an obscure compilation of Sinatra songs from various albums. I don't know why I like this one so much. I once spent three full days motionless in front of it, just watching the vinyl spin. I know the grooves in this record better than the grooves ini my palms. People used to say music was the greatest communicator; I wonder if this is still true in this posthuman, posthumous age. I put the record on and begin to move the needle as it plays, skipping measures, skipping songs, dancing through the spirals to find the words I want to fill the air. The phrases are off key, off tempo, punctuated by loud scratches like the ripping of fascia tissue, but the tone is flawless. Frank's buttery baritone says it better than my croaky vocals ever could had I the diction of a Kennedy. I stand over the record, cutting and pasting the contents of my heart into an airborne collage. 

   I don't care if you are called--scratch--when people say you're--scratch--wicked witchcraft--scratch--don't change a hair for me, not if you--scratch--'cause you're sensational--scratch--you just the way you are--scratch--you're sensational... sensational... That's all... 

Warm Bodies - Pg 55

I instantly regret speaking his name. Rolling off my tongue, the syllables taste like his blood. 

Warm Bodies - Pg 55

   "There's this theory that you guys eat brains because you get to relive the person's life. True?"   I shrug, trying not to squirm. I feel like a toddler caught finger-painting the walls. Or killing dozens of people. 

Warm Bodies - Pg 53

I start to shrug and then stop myself, with some difficulty. How can I possible explain this to her in words? The slow death of Quixote. The abandoning of quests, the surrenders of desire, the settling in and settling down that is the inevitable fate of the Dead. 

Warm Bodies - Pg 36

My kids are next in line. They watch the current lesson intently, sometimes standing on tiptoes to see, but they aren't afraid. They are younger than the rest and will probably be matched against someone too frail to put up a fight, but they don't know this, and it's not why they're unafraid. When the entire world is built on death and horror, when existence is a constant state of panic, it's hard to get worked up about any one thing. Specific fears have become irrelevant. We've replaced them with a smothering blanket far worse. 

Warm Bodies - Pg 4

It does make me sad that we've forgotten our names. Out of everything, this seems to me the most tragic. I miss my own and I mourn for everyone else's, because I'd like to love them, but I don't know who they are. 

Warm Bodies - Pg 1

Mine might have started with an "R," but that's all I have now. It's funny because back when I was alive, I was always forgetting other people's names. My friend "M" says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can't smile because your lips have rotted off. 

Warm Bodies - Pg 1

I'm sorry I can't properly introduce myself, but I don't have a name anymore. Hardly any of us do. We lose them like car keys, forget them like anniversaries.