Mrs May looked back at her. "Kate," she said after a moment, "stories never really end. They can go on and on and on. It's just that sometimes, at a certain point, one stops telling them."

Hvorfor fortsetter vi å tro at det å forstå og bedømme den skapningen som kalles menneske, er den enkleste sak i verden? Vi vokter oss vel for å si noe om kvaliteten på en ost vi ikke har smakt før, men vi feller gladelig vår endelige dom over mennesker vi nettopp har møtt, og går ufortrødent videre.

Man finner lett en helt som er villig til å entre dragens hule, men ikke mange vil la seg senke ned i en brønn som ingen vet hva skjuler.

Gjennom det å ha levet lenge og tatt farvel med så mange personer vet jeg nå at de døde tynger, ikke så meget ved fravær som ved det som - mellom dem og oss - ikke er blitt sagt.

En av alle de fryktelige virkningene av sorg er at vi tolker fraværet av den som egoisme.

En enkel sannhet, like ofte gjentatt som ignorert, er at uansett om du sier til et barn at det klarer hva som helst, eller at det ikke klarer noen ting i det hele tatt, får du sannsynligvis rett.

The trouble with jealous revenge is that while you might inflict hurt on the other party, it does nothing to lessen the effect of the hurt you are feeling yourself.

I think the hardest part of losing anyone is that you still have to live with the same scenery. It’s just that the person you are used to isn’t a part of it any more, and all you notice are the gaps where they used to be. It feels as though, if you concentrated hard enough, you could find them again in those empty spaces. Waiting for you.

Because sometimes you need to run away. You need to believe in something without looking for proof. You need to enjoy a thing without finding a need to measure its value. You need to run away from a familiar life, into something quite unfamiliar. Even if you are so old, the only running away you will ever do again is in your mind.

It’s strange, because you can put up with all manner of nonsense in your life, all sorts of sadness, and you manage to keep everything on board and march through it, then someone is kind to you and it’s the kindness that makes you cry.

"Bravery means you have a choice, doesn't it?", she said. "It means you could have turned away but you chose not to."

There are times when sharing a problem only seems to make it grow. Hearing the words out loud gives them a strenght they never seem to have inside your own head, and it's easier sometimes to let them stay there, unnoticed.

"We are all victims of our human experience," Alice continued, "apt to view the present through the lens of our own past."

Hun var lærerinne i tysk og fransk og var rank i kropp og meninger ("som grammatikk," sa onkel Martin til onkel René bak viftepalmen - "bare at ingen av de uregelmessige verbene syns utenpå henne").

" Vi er alle ofre for ett eller annet, Mr. Effing. Om det så bare er for livet selv."

The world is a looking-glass, and gives back to every man the reflection of his own face. Frown at it, and it will in turn look sourly upon you; laugh at it and with it, and it is a jolly, kind companion; and so let all young persons take their choice.

Det fins like mange former for tristhet som det er timer i et menneskeliv. Og antagelig noen flere også. Så det er ikke så nøye om du vet hva den ene eller den andre tristheten skyldes. Det er en del av livet.

When I am an old man, when I look back over my life and see I have devoted it to the task of capturing the unique beauty of the world, I believe I will be well satisfied. And no man will make me believe I've wasted my time.

In any case, there is surely no great shame in mistakes made in the best of faith. It is surely a thing far more shameful to be unable or unwilling to acknowledge them.

Min herre, tida ber ein sekk på ryggen,
der samlar ho opp almisser til gløymsla,
det uhyret, som aldri seier takk.