A Quote by J. K. Rowling

Hagrid. You live in a wooden house! — © J. K. Rowling
Hagrid. You live in a wooden house!
There was a brief silence in which the distant echo of Hagrid smashing down a wooden front door seemed to reverberate through the intervening years.
I've decided to call him Norbert,' said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. 'He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mummy?' 'He's lost his marbles,' Ron muttered in Harry's ear. 'Hagrid,' said Harry loudly, 'give it a fortnight and Norbert's going to be as big as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment. Hagrid bit his lip. 'I- I know I can't jus' dump him, I can't.' Harry suddenly turned to Ron. 'Charlie,' he said. 'You're losing it too,' said Ron. 'I'm Ron, remember?
You think it - wise - to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?" "I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.
I never know," Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "What's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?" "Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid.
TREE HOUSE A tree house, a free house, A secret you and me house, A high up in the leafy branches Cozy as can be house. A street house, a neat house, Be sure to wipe your feet house Is not my kind of house at all- Let's go live in a tree house.
Seventeen, eh!" said Hagrid as he accepted a bucket-sized glass of wine from Fred. "Six years to the day we met, Harry, d’yeh remember it?" "Vaguely," said Harry, grinning up at him. "Didn’t you smash down the front door, give Dudley a pig’s tail, and tell me I was a wizard?" "I forge’ the details," Hagrid chortled.
Here is the door of my mom's house, well-remembered childhood portal. Here is the yard, and a set of wires that runs from the house to a wooden pole, and some fat birds sitting together on the wires, five of them lined up like beads on an abacus.
A man's style is his mind's voice. Wooden minds, wooden voices.
A bad book with a good cover is nothing but a wooden house with a golden door.
Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined; Often in a wooden house a golden room we find.
My house is modern, but I like my writing room to be old fashioned. I write on a little wooden secretary desk.
They were bullyin' him, Hermione, 'cause he's so small!" said Hagrid. "Small?" said Hermione. "Small?" "Hermione, I couldn't leave him," said Hagrid, tears now trickling down his bruised face into his beard. "See -- he's my brother!
Halfway down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards various points of the compass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst. The street is Pyncheon Street; the house is the old Pyncheon House; and an elm-tree, of wide circumference, rooted before the door, is familiar to every town-born child by the title of the Pyncheon Elm.
It's the anarchy of poverty delights me, the old yellow wooden house indented among the new brick tenements
Makes a diff'rence, havin' a decent family,' he said. 'Me dad was decent. An' your mum an' dad were decent. If they'd lived, life woulda bin diff'rent, eh?' 'Yeah, I s'pose,' said Harry cautiously. Hagrid seemed to be in a very strange mood. 'Family,' said Hagrid gloomily. 'Whatever yeh say, blood's important.
We used to live in a rented house in Mumbai, and now we live in our own house. That, for me, is success.
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