“War is not for winning, Masha,” sighed Koschei, reading the tracks of supply lines, of pincer strategies, over her shoulder. “It is for surviving.”

“What had human beings become? Did war make us evil or just activate an evil already lurking within us?”

“Every man should lose a battle in his youth, so he does not lose a war when he is old.”

“She supposed they were imperfections, those marks, but they didn’t feel that way to her; they were a history, cut into his body: the map of a life of endless war.”

“and when all the wars are over, a butterfly will still be beautiful.”

“If I have learned anything in this long life of mine, it is this: in love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are.”

“They’re in love. Fuck the war.”

“Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.”

“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”

“There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet. “Is this the moment?” Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. “OI! There’s a war going on here!” Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other. “I know, mate,” said Ron, who looked as though he had recently been hit on the back of the head with a Bludger, “so it’s now or never, isn’t it?” “Never mind that, what about the Horcrux?” Harry shouted. “D’you think you could just — just hold it in, until we’ve got the diadem?” “Yeah — right — sorry —” said Ron, and he and Hermione set about gathering up fangs, both pink in the face.”