They’re the ones inside a soap bubble. Not me.

She had taught herself how to knit, and for the mare’s scarf – it was green – she had given herself the best grade possible. And …”That’s silly!’ Micha giggled. ‘Well, who is the cliff...

Just a tiny little pain,Three days of heavy rain,Three days of sunlight,Everything will be alright,Just a tiny little pain.

Abel was brushing the snow off his parka while Micha was dancing around him, still balancing the plate of cookies, singing, ‘We’re staying, we’re staying, we’re staying overnight! We’re drying! We’re drying! We’re drying on...

That cloak of love you were wearing—he’s torn it to shreds, undoing the seams of trust that held it together. How can you ever wear those shreds?

And the snow that fell onto the roof in winter… it fell softly… softly… and it covered the house, the armchair, the books, the children’s voices. It covered Anna and Abel, covered their parallel world,...

The place in her, though, where her tears should have come from, was rough and dry. No, she didn’t find any tears in herself to cry for the storyteller.The storyteller didn’t exist anymore.

As long as you’re better at it than skating…,” Anna said and stood up too. She wanted to say more, but that wasn’t possible because he was kissing her. Reasonable Anna wanted to draw back...

My child, I know you’re not a childBut I still see you running wildBetween those flowering trees.Your sparkling dreams, your silver laughYour wishes to the stars above Are just my memories.And in your eyes the...

There are fewer answers in the world than questions, and if you ask me now why that is so, I must tell you that there is no answer to that question.

You can’t change things. That’s life. Poor stays poor, rich says rich, and those two, they will never meet.

A story isn’t a good one unless it has a good listener

And she imagined how things could be later. It was stupid, but the picture just appeared in her mind. Abel and Magnus shoveling snow together… in twenty years, in thirty. Magnus had grown old, his...

The white noise from the old Walkman enveloped them both; like a blanket of new snow, it draped itself over them, shutting out all the curious looks.And the world under the blanket was – surprisingly,...

When I say to the moment flying…linger a while-thou art so fair” – Faust