I Love A Good Dorothy L. Sayers.

Be Ruthless About Protecting Writing Days, I.e., Do Not Cave In To Endless Requests To Have "essential" And "long Overdue" Meetings On Those Days. The Funny Thing Is That, Although Writing Has Been My Actual Job For Several Years Now, I Still Seem To Have To Fight For Time In Which To Do It. Some People Do Not Seem To Grasp That I Still Have To Sit Down In Peace And Write The Books, Apparently Believing That They Pop Up Like Mushrooms Without My Connivance. I Must Therefore Guard The Time Allotted To Writing As A Hungarian Horntail Guards Its Firstborn Egg.

How Do You Feel, Georgie?" Whispered Mrs. Weasley. George's Fingers Groped For The Side Of His Head. "saintlike," He Murmured. "what's Wrong With Him?" Croaked Fred, Looking Terrified. "is His Mind Affected?" "saintlike," Repeated George, Opening His Eyes And Looking Up At His Brother. "you See...i'm Holey, Fred, Geddit?

The Consequences Of Our Actions Are Always So Complicated, So Diverse, That Predicting The Future Is A Very Difficult Business Indeed.

Yeah,' Said Ron. 'could've Been Worse. Remember Those Birds She Set On Me?' 'i Still Haven't Ruled It Out,' Came Hermione's Muffled Voice From Beneath Her Blankets, But Harry Saw Ron Smiling Slightly As He Pulled His Maroon Pajamas Out Of His Rucksack.

Your Great-aunt Muriel Doesn't Agree, I Just Met Her Upstairs While She Was Giving Fleur The Tiara. "she Said 'oh Dear, Is This The Muggle Born?' And Then, 'bad Posture, Skinny Ankles.'" Don't Take It Personally, She's Rude To Everyone," Said Ron. "talking About Muriel?" Inquired George, Reemerging From The Marquee With Fred. "yeah, She's Just Told Me My Ears Are Lopsided. Old Bat.