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My world... This great absurd being. One couldn't even wonder where it came from, all this, nor why a wold existed rather than nothing. It didn't have any sense, the world was present everywhere, in front, behind. There was nothing before that. Nothing. There wasn't a moment in which it couldn't have not existed. It was exactly this which irritated me: without a doubt there was no reason for it to exist, this crawling larvae. But it wasn't possible for it not to exist. It was unthinkable: to imagine nothingness one needed to be there already, in a full world, as a living soul, with wide eyes, nothingness was but an idea in my head, an existing idea, fluctuating within that immensity: that nothingness didn't come before existence, it was an existence like many others and appeared after many others.

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Being is. Being is in-itself. Being is what it is. These are the three characteristics which the preliminary examination of the phenomenon of being allows us to assign to the being of phenomena.

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The meaning of the being of the existent in so far as it reveals itself to consciousness is the phenomenon of being. This meaning has itself a being, based on which it manifests itself.

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I like to have strong opinions with nothing to back them up with besides my primal sincerity.
I like sincerity. I lack sincerity. These are not opinions, these are not words of wisdom, this is a disclaimer, a disclaimer for my lack of education, for my loss of inspiration, for my unnerving quest for affectionand my perfunctory shamefulness towards many who are of my relative age. It's not even a poem. it's a big pile of shit like me.

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Dumbledore will have left the school truly only when there is no one faithful to him anymore.

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It was important Dumbledore said, to fight and fight again, and to continue fighting, for only that way could evil be kept at bay, even if it couldn't be completely irradicates.

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He was pretty thoroughly bewildered; he had come home, a jubilant prodigal, expecting to find everybody wild with joy over his return; and instead had got the cold shoulder and a jail. The promise and the fulfilment differed so widely that the effect was stunning; he could not decide whether it was most tragic or most grotesque. He felt much as a man might who had danced blithely out to enjoy a rainbow, and got struck by lightning.

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Where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people also.

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You don't know what it means! You... none of you... has had to do anything of the sort! Do you think that learning by heart a couple of spells and conjuring them against him, as we do in class is enough? But there is nothing between you and your death other than... your brain, your liver, or something... how can you reason when you know that in a split second you will be assasined, tortured or see your friends die.

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I don't believe that there may exist some process of thought lacking of personal experience. All thought is meditation (Nachdenken), thinking as a result of something.