The life where nothing was ever unexpected. Or inconvenient. Or unusual. The life without colour, pain or past.

He wept, and it felt as if the tears were cleansing him, as if his body needed to empty itself.

Memory is the happiness of being alone.

Time goes on, and your life is still there, and you have to live it. After a while you remember the good things more often than the bad. Then, gradually, the empty silent parts of...

We’re the ones who will fill in the blank places. Maybe we can make it different.

When you care about someone and give them something special. Something that they treasire. That’s a gift.

Ellen had said that her mother was afraid of the ocean, that it was too cold and too big. The sky was, too, thought Annemarie. The whole world was: too cold, too big. And too...