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He is not meant for a relationship and has never thought he was. He has never envied his friends theirs - to do so would be akin to a cat coveting a dog's bark: it is something that would never occur to him to envy, because it is impossible, something that is simply alien to his very species

His persistent nostalgia depressed him, aged him, and yet he couldn't stop feeling that the most glorious years, the years when everything seemed drawn in fluorescents, were gone

Why wasn't friendship as good as a relationship? Why wasn't it even better? It was two people who remained together, day after day, bound not by sex or physical attraction or money or children og property, but only by the shared agreement to keep going, the mutual dedication to a union that could never be codified

Fairness is for happy people, for people who have been lucky enough to have lived a life defined more by certainties than by ambiguities

The world becomes temporarily unberable

I felt something crumble inside me, like a tower of damp sand built to high

This whole incident is a metaphor for life in general: things get broken, and sometimes they get repaired, and in most cases, you realize that no matter what gets damaged, life rearranges itself to compensate for your loss, someties wonderfully

Friendship was a series of exchanges: of affections, of time, sometimes of money, always of information

What was happiness but an extravagance, an impossible state to maintain

"The past was the only place she wanted to be"

"What growing up entailed (in life as in books) was a swift and inexplicable dwindling of character; out of a clear blue sky the heroes and heroines abandoned their adventures for some dull sweetheart, got married and had families, and generally started acting like a bunch of cows"

"Hun sier jeg må kjenne på tingene, ikke skyve dem unna, vet hun hvordan det vil gå, hvis jeg kjenner på tingene, kan hun vite at det ikke tar overhånd, all plassen, hele meg?"

"Jo, jeg kjenner av og til at det er like før jeg gråter, hvis jeg ikke stanset meg selv, ville jeg begynne å gråte, Hvis noe kommer uforvarende, plutselig på meg, hvis noen sier noe når jeg ikke er forberedt. Når jeg ikke har stengt, men går med små åpninger fordi jeg føler meg trygg og er avslappet, hender det ord kommer inn gjennom åpningene og treffer meg i hjertet. Det brenner bak ørene og tetter seg i halsen, det er like før jeg gråter, hvis jeg begynner klarer jeg kanskje ikke å stoppe."

There are so many things that we can't say, because they are too painful.

I needed words because unhappy families are conspiracies of silence. The one who breaks the silence is never forgiven.

"Livet mitt er et puslespill. Jeg har en pose med brikker men jeg aner ikke hvordan jeg skal sette dem sammen, eller om det går i det hele tatt".

"Jeg setter sammen bitene, ulike fragmenter av historien svever ned fra stjernene, faller på plass mellom vinglassene, jeg skal ikke si at jeg ikke har tenkt på det før, jeg har ikke gjort annet, men av og til er det bedre å glemme ting man ikke forstår, enn å la det svømme rundt i kroppen som små dyr som har lyst til å spise deg".

Man får inte leva om sitt liv. Det är det som är själva grejen!

Och eftersom sorgen är ett tidvatten finns det stunder da sorgen kommer upp til ytan och sköljer över en med förvanansvärd styrka, trots att man tycker att så mycket tid förflutit, att åren har kommit och gått. Men eftersom sorgen är ett tidvatten är det också så att den i stunder drar sig undan, och man upptäcker att man faktisk befinner sig på torra land och kanskje borda passa på att sträcka på benen och ta sig en promenad. För livet fortsätter även om det är något helt annat än forut.

" Ibland handlar det inte om att leve. Det handlar om att överleva. Detta ögonblick og nästa. Att komma igjenom, att fortsätta andas, ett andetag i taget. Det blir inte bra, men det kan bli bättre"