Albus
Tell me why life is getting shorter, Minerva. Quicker and quicker. It races towards the end, the finishing touches oblique. You say it's the nature of reality.
I say it's never my nature to be calm and composed when I feel like screaming and really, Minerva, could you imagine that? I feign control and it comforts people. Little, innocent, watching, trusting people.
I'm dying, Minerva. You're greying, Minerva.
I'm the best wizard of the age for nothing.
Because I'm still going to die, and the difference I've made will come to nothing.
We delude ourselves to think that there's meaning, to think that there's reason. We think it's love and happiness: that fleeting, fleeting break from life.
I don't believe it.