It's funny isn't it??YOu don't want to stop it??Don't ya??...I don't give a shit about your opinion what I want I will do...You are now part of this story, unfortunately, just by reading this you make yourself part of this story, like it or not that's how it goes.Once upon a time there was one girl and one boy staying home banned to go outside everything was locked it wasn't one day, 2 days it was whole 10 years. Their family always was outside communicating with the other people and you didn't even exist, they knew you but they didn't wanted you... it was somewhere in the end of the Second War in which 50 soldiers just came in home, you were screaming... again and again they asked what's that... your mother said that she will handle it... and what??Slap after slap, kick after kick then the father comes playing with the knife and he was juggling and one moment he made the knife with the spike in front of your eyes he tied your hands, he put a Scotch tape on your mouth and what??? He was taking your eye... by the knife and eating them... then he started fast and fast hitting with the knife without looking in random place and in this game..... it ended horrible??The boy was first without eyes the girl was a second without a legs, years and however her tongue was cut... why??Evil should speak... evil is on the first place. Never ends, there isn't even and beginning it's inside!

Put off this sloth,' the master said, 'for shame!Sitting on feather-pillows, lying reclined Beneath the blanket is no way to fame -Fame, without which man's life wastes out of mind, Leaving on earth no more memorialThan foam in water or smoke upon the wind

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley...He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter - the boy who lived!

The moments you are given are your true wealth. You don't need power, influence, or fame. The sunlight brings the power; the wind carries the influence. And as for fame, well, when you allow yourself to notice all those hands that have made your growth possible, you will also recognize what you have made possible for countless others _ and how famous you already are. In this very moment, one of those others may be telling a story about how you helped them grow forward.

Walter Scott has no business to write novels, especially good ones. _ It is not fair. _ He has fame and profit enough as a poet, and should not be taking the bread out of other people__ mouths. _ I do not like him, and do not mean to like Waverley if I can help it _ but fear I must.

His fame as an artist requires very tender care. Look what a mask of diplomacy is painstakingly formed by the whole of that fine profile; he is as wily as a cardinal. He has scented in Miss White a useful agent of celebrity, and he has come solely to harness her to the cause of his glory. It is himself that he courts by means of the salaams he offers to her; he only ever flirts with himself. He is the Narcissus of the inkpot...