"So that was Mrs. Lundegaard on the floor in there. And I guess that was your accomplice in the wood chipper. And those three people in Brainerd. And for what? For a little bit of money. There’s more to life than a little money, you know. Don’tcha know that? And here ya are, and it’s a beautiful day. Well. I just don’t understand it."
Mithrandir, Mithrandir sang the elves, O Pilgrim Grey! For so they loved to call him. But if Legolas was with the Company, he would not interpret the songs for them, saying he had not the skill, and that for him the grief was still too near, a matter for tears and not yet for song.
Slowly his hand went to his bosom, and slowly he held aloft the Phial of Galadriel. For a moment it glimmered, faist as a rising star struggling in heavy earthward mists, and is as its power waxed, and hope grew in Frodo’s mind, it began to burn, and kindled to a silver flame, a minute heart of dazzling light, as though Earendil had himself come down from the high sunset paths with the last Simaril upon his brow.
In all the days of the Third Age, after the fall of Gil-galad, Master Elrond abode in Imladris, and he gathered there many Elves, and other folk of wisdom and power from among all the kindreds of Middle-earth, and he preserved through many lives of Men the memory of all that had been fair; and the house of Elrond was a refuge for the weary and the oppressed, and a treasury of good counsel and wise lore.
Well, It really starts through research—what the information I find gives me and how it translates into narrative. The structure for me was all about initially floating on your back down a river and taking in your surroundings. And all of a sudden there’s a rupture, a fracture. Your surroundings have been distorted, you hit a rapid. The last part of course is the waterfall, a loss of gravity. And that’s how I sort of structured it in my mind.
The hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing; the use of hosepipes had been banned due to drought. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhabitants of Privet Drive had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze. The only person left outdoors was a teenage boy … He was a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who had the pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who has grown a lot in a short space of time.
The atrium was full of people. The floor was reflecting emerald-green flames that had burst into life in all the fireplaces along the wall, and a stream of witches and wizards was emerging from them. As Dumbledore pulled him back to his feet, Harry saw the tiny gold statues of the house-elf and the goblin leading a stunned-looking Cornelius Fudge forward.
Dementors are among the foulest creatures to walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles fear their presence, though they can’t see them. Get too near a dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself … soulless and evil. You’ll be left with nothing but the worst experiences in your life.
I don’t think I could have written a screenplay when I was younger, I don’t think. I think it took me a long time to understand how to write and understand, and I learned a lot from Charlie, from working with Charlie. And I learned a lot from Dave Eggers and Maurice Sendak. I don’t know, but now I feel like I’m ready to actually write what’s in my heart and what I have to say. And so I feel like that’s what this chapter of my life is going to be.