The Summer Book

by Tove Jansson

Gathering is peculiar, because you see nothing but what you’re looking for.

You can see for yourself that life is hard enough without being punished for it afterwards. We get comfort when we die, that’s the whole idea.”

And dreams burn a lot of gasoline.

A very long time ago, Grandmother had wanted to tell about all the things they did, but no one had bothered to ask. And now she had lost the urge.

The sheltering tent had let in the night, as close as if she’d been sleeping on the open ground.

Sometimes people never saw things clearly until it was too late and they no longer had the strength to start again. Or else they forgot their idea along the way and didn’t even realize that they had forgotten.

Wise as she was, she realized that people can postpone their rebellious phases until they’re eighty-five years old, and she decided to keep an eye on herself.

Even potted plants got to be a responsibility, like everything else you took care of that couldn’t make decisions for itself.

“How can I think if I have to worry about spelling all the time?

“Why are you in such a rush?” Sophia asked, and her grandmother answered that it was a good idea to do things before you forgot that they had to be done.