Bokelskere.no

She was a triumph over ugliness, so often more beguiling than real beauty, if only because it contains paradox. In this case, as opposed to the scrupulous method of plain good taste and scientific grooming, the trick had been worked by exaggerating defects; she'd made them ornamental by admitting them boldly. Heels that emphasized her height, so steep her ankles trembled; a flat tight bodice that indicated she could go to a beach in bathing trunks; hair that was pulled straight back, accentuating the spareness, the starvation of her fashion-model face.

(...) not knowing what’s yours until you’ve thrown it away.

Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.

I’ll never get used to anything. Anybody that does, they might as well be dead.

"Han vil så fryktelig gjerne være innenfor og stirre ut :
Alle som klemmer nesen mot et vindu ,har lett for å se dumme ut".

"En urovekkende ensomhet var kommet inn i mitt liv,
men den fremkalte ingen lengsel etter venner av eldre bekjentskap :
De forekom meg nå som en usaltet, sukkerfri diett."

'Poor slob,' she said, tickling his head, 'poor slob without a name. It's a little inconvenient, his not having a name. But I haven't any right to give him one: he'll have to wait until he belongs to somebody. We just sort of took up by the river one day, we don't belong to each other: he's independent, and so am I. I don't want to own anything until I know I've found the place where me and things belong together. I'm not quite sure where that is just yet. But I know what it's like.' She smiled, and let the cat drop to the floor. 'It's like Tiffany's,' she said.

He was a middle-aged chold that had never shed its baby fat, though some gifted tailor had almost succeeded in camouflaging his plump and spankable bottom. There was't a suspicion of bone in his body; his face, a zero filled with pretty miniature features, had an unused, a virginal quality; it was as if he'd been born, then expanded, his skin remaining unlined as a blown-up balloon, and his mouth, though ready for squalls and tantrums, a spoiled sweet puckering.

'See?' she shouted. 'It's great!'

And suddenly it was. Suddenly, watching the tangled colours of Holly's hair flash in the red-yellow leaf light, I loved her enough to forget myself, my self-pitying despairs, and be content that something she thought happy was going to happen.

It’s better to look at the sky than live there