A Death in the Family (My Struggle #1)

by Karl Ove Knausgård

For it was not the case that language cloaked reality in its moods, but vice versa, reality arose from them.

always came with more than mere light. However frayed your emotions, it was impossible to be wholly unaffected by the day’s new beginnings.

produces over and over again, not only in everything that lives but also in everything that does not live, drawn in sand, stone and water. And death, which I have always regarded as the greatest dimension of life, dark, compelling, was no more than a pipe that springs a leak, a branch that cracks in the wind, a jacket that slips off a clothes hanger and falls to the floor.