Bokelskere.no

In reality the world is made of thousands upon thousands of groups of about five hundred people, all of whom will spend their lives bumping into each other, trying to avoid each other, and discovering each other in the same unlikely teashop in Vancouver.

Songs remain. They last. The right song can turn an emperor into a laughing stock, can bringdown dynasties. A song can last long after the events and the people in it are dust and dreams are gone. That's the power of songs.

At one point, he started singing at his desk, not because he was happy, but because he forgot not to.

He had a fine voice, and an excellent smile, and feet that twinkled when he danced.

Her postcard from Nanking told him that she certainly didn't like what passed for Chinese food in China, and that she couldn't wait to come back to London and eat proper Chinese food.

Fat Charlie wondered what Rosie’s mother would usually hear in a church. Probably just cries of ‘Back! Foul beast of Hell!’ followed by gasps of ’Is it alive?’ and a nervous enquiry as to wheather anybody had remembered to bring the stakes and hammers.

(om svigermor)