Bokelskere.no

The ones who did it can always rationalize their actions and even forget what they did. They can turn away from things they don't want to see. But the surviving victims can never forget. They can't turn away. Their memories are passed on from parent to child. That's what the world is, after all: an endless battle of contrasting memories.

There was an inexhaustible source of clouds in some land far to the north. Decisive people, minds fixed on the task, clothed in thick, gray uniforms, working silently from morning to night to make clouds, like bees make honey, spiders make webs, and war makes widows.

There is nothing in this world that never takes a step outside a person's heart.

Everyone, deep in their hearts, is waiting for the end of the world to come.

«That's fine, too,» Tamaru said. «Nothing could be better than not firing it. We're drawing close to the end of the twentieth century. Things are different from back in Chekhov's time (...) Somehow the world survived the Nazis, the atomic bomb, and modern music.»