J.K. Rowling

The fame thing is interesting because I never wanted to be famous, and I never dreamt I would be famous.
I imagined being a famous writer would be like being like Jane Austen. Being able to sit at home in the parsonage and your books would be very famous and occasionally you would correspond with the Prince of Wales's secretary.

The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.

I want trans women to be safe. At the same time, I do not want to make natal girls and women less safe.

Don't let the muggles get you down.

"You'd think people had better things to gossip about," said Ginny as she sat on the common room floor, leaning against Harry’s legs and reading the Daily Prophet. "Three Dementor attacks in a week, and all Romilda Vane does is ask me if it’s true you’ve got a Hippogriff tattooed across your chest."
Ron and Hermione both roared with laughter. Harry ignored them.
What did you tell her?"
I told her it's a Hungarian Horntail," said Ginny, turning a page of the newspaper idly. "Much more macho."
Thanks," said Harry, grinning. "And what did you tell her Ron’s got?"
A Pygmy Puff, but I didn’t say where."

I mean, is ‘fat’ really the worst thing a human being can be? Is ‘fat’ worse than ‘vindictive’, ‘jealous’, ‘shallow’, ‘vain’, ‘boring’ or ‘cruel’? Not me.

Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.

Of all the trees we could've hit, we had to get one that hits back.

Trying to decide between different proposed covers for your new novel? Here's a good tip: ask family members which one they prefer. They'll vehemently disagree and you'll end up so confused you no longer know what you like and let your editor choose

Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.

To hurt is as human as to breathe.

There's always room for a story that can transport people to another place.

He can run faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo.

I have met thousands of children now, and not even one time has a child come up to me and said, "Ms. Rowling, I'm so glad I've read these books because now I want to be a witch." They see it for what it is [...] It is a fantasy world and they understand that completely.
I don't believe in magic, either.

I went to the British Book Awards that evening. I bumped into a woman I hadn't seen for nearly three years. The first thing she said to me? "You've lost a lot of weight since the last time I saw you!"
"Well," I said, slightly nonplussed, "the last time you saw me I'd just had a baby." What I felt like saying was, "I've produced my third child and my sixth novel since I last saw you. Aren't either of those things more important, more interesting, than my size?" But no — my waist looked smaller! Forget the kid and the book: finally, something to celebrate!