This rabble you're talking about...they do most of the working and paying and living and dying in this community. Is it too much to have them work and pay and live and die in a couple of decent rooms and a bath? My father didn't think so. People were human-beings to him. But to you, a warped, frustrated old man, they're cattle. In my book he died a much richer man than you'll ever be.
Pre Adult Teenagers can prematurely age adults.
Literature is mostly about having sex and not much about having children. Life is the other way round.
Being able to be with small children teaches us how to deal with adults who act like babies.
You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us? You think that we don't recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble? Your father is alive in you, Harry, and shows himself most plainly when you have need of him. How else could you produce that particular Patronus? Prongs rode again last night.
...rest, nature, books, music, love for one's neighbor -- such is my idea of happiness. And then, on the top of all that, you for a mate, and children perhaps -- what more can the heart of man desire?
A person needs to be needed and if you don't need me, you could lie.
Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.
In the end, you'll know which people really love you. They're the ones who see you for who you are and, no matter what, always find a way to be at your side.
Love is for everyone. The good, the bad, the disabled, the mad. Show more love to someone who doesn't understand what it is and free them from the pain and isolation that surrounds them.