Bokelskere.no

Hva betyr vel hjernen […] sammenliknet med hjertet?

Man var alene. Det var en omfavnelse i døden.

Det hun likte, var rett og slett liv. «Det er det jeg gjør det for,» sa hun høyt, til livet.

Skjønnhet, det var sannheten nå.

Man dikter opp det meste i livet; skaper en medrivende underholdning.

Man blir ensom av å elske, tenkte hun.

I folks øyne, i bevegelser og gange; i skrål og oppstandelse; vognene, bilene, bussene, kjerrene, plakatbærere som sjokket og subbet; musikkorpset; lirekasser; i overmot og skramling og et flys underlig høye syngelyd der oppe var det hun elsket; livet.

But cricket was no mere game. Cricket was important. He could never help reading about cricket. He read the scores in the stop press first; then how it was a hot day; then about a murder case.

La oss ikke ta for gitt at livet er fyldigere til stede i det som vanligvis anses som stort enn i det som vanligvis anses som lite

What she loved was this, here, now, in front of her; the fat lady in the cab. Did it matter then, she asked herself, walking towards Bond Street, did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely; all this must go on without her; did she resent it; or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely? but that somehow in the streets of London, on the ebb and flow of things, here there, she survived. Peter survived, lived in each other, she being part, she was positive, of the trees at home; of the house there, ugly, rambling all to bits and pieces as it was; part of people she had never met; being laid out like a mist between the people she knew best, who lifted her on their branches as she had seen the trees lift the mist, but it spread ever so far, her life, herself.