There is no good and evil, there is only power and those too weak to seek it.
Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.
We have to choose between what is right, and what is easy.
Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies.
We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided.
If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love.
It is our choices... that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.
Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. Love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves it's own mark. To have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever.
I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost . . . but still, I was alive.
I have seen your heart, and it is mine.
It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be.
The wand chooses the wizard.
But I was willing to embrace mortal life again, before chasing immortality.
Did you know— then?” asked Harry. “Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time? No.
In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you.
To Harry Potter — the boy who lived!
Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory.
Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher. There was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head!
Unlike Western parents, reminding my child of Lord Voldemort didn't bother me.
Every Harry Potter film features Lord Voldemort, who stereotypes evil. And movies that discriminate against evil have no place on campus, because evil has feelings, too. Terrorists cry during commercials and mad bombers enjoy long walks and campfires, too.
This is what's sick about living in L.A. My eight-year-old daughter will point to a woman and say, 'Look! That woman's had too much Botox.' She spots them because they all look a bit like Lord Voldemort from 'Harry Potter.'
Harry felt winded, as though he had just walked into something heavy. He had last seen those cool gray eyes through slits in a Death Eater’s hood, and last heard that man’s voice jeering in a dark graveyard while Lord Voldemort tortured him. He could not believe that Lucius Malfoy dared look him in the face; he could not believe that he was here, in the Ministry of Magic, or that Cornelius Fudge was talking to him, when Harry had told Fudge mere weeks ago that Malfoy was a Death Eater.
This exchange marked the beginning of Mr. Malfoy's long campaign to have me removed from my post as headmaster of Hogwarts, and of mine to have him removed from his position as Lord Voldemort's Favorite Death Eater. My response prompted several further letters from Mr. Malfoy, but as they consisted mainly of opprobrious remarks on my sanity, parentage, and hygiene, their relevance to this commentary is remote.
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