"I don't think anything's wrong with him, sir," he'd said, carefully. "I just think he's not—" Happy, he nearly said. But what was happiness but an extravagance, an impossible state to maintain, partly because it was so difficult to articulate? He couldn't remember being a child and being able to define happiness: there was only misery, or fear, and the absence of misery or fear, and the latter state was all he had needed or wanted. "I think he's shy," he finished.
Still remember that no man loses any other life than this which he lives, nor lives any other than this which he now loses.
0-30p: Kontrollü okuyucu 📖
40-70p: Hafif bağımlı 👀
80p+: Geçmiş olsun, kitaplar seni ele geçirmiş 😅
He hated that such things existed. However, you could not stop times from changing. His mother’s words. You couldn’t stop times from changing any more than you could stop the surf from rolling. But he could remember.
Remember..Alıntı
.. Emevilerin ve Abbasilerin döneminde “hadis” ve “sünnet” gibi başlıklarla insanlara Arap örf ve adetlerinin, Emevilerin ve Abbasilerin hayata bakış açısının “din” diye kabul ettirildiğini bir daha hatırlayın.
Rita Skeeter’s ArticleHarry Potter
In the meantime, life became even worse for Harry within the confines of the castle, for Rita Skeeter had published her piece about the Triwizard Tournament, and it had turned out to be not so much a report on the tournament as a highly colored life story of Harry. Much of the front page had been given over to a picture of Harry; the article (continuing on pages two, six, and seven) had been all about Harry, the names of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions (misspelled) had been squashed into the last line of the article, and Cedric hadn’t been mentioned at all.
The article had appeared ten days ago, and Harry still got a sick, burning feeling of shame in his stomach every time he thought about it. Rita Skeeter had reported him saying an awful lot of things that he couldn’t remember ever saying in his life, let alone in that broom cupboard.
I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they’d be very proud of me if they could see me now. . . . Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I’m not ashamed to admit it. . . . I know nothing will hurt me during the tournament, because they’re watching over me. . . .
But Rita Skeeter had gone even further than transforming his “er’s” into long, sickly sentences: She had interviewed other people about him too.
Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school.
Fingerprints are like keys, with their specific shape.
I remember all keys, too.
