My Friends

by Fredrik Backman

Louisa curses and curses and curses, then suddenly she starts crying so violently that her whole body shakes, because she had a completely perfect plan this morning, and it definitely didn’t include her standing in an alley behind a church, crying so hard that a homeless cat gets snot on its fur. “Sorry, sorry,” she sniffs. The cat looks a little disgusted at the thought of having to wash its fur with its tongue now.

Tears are running down her cheeks, but she looks almost peaceful, or at least as peaceful as anyone can look if they’ve just been crying on a cat.

“Run, Louisa! I hope you learn to swim. I hope you paint every single wall from here to the sea. Now, run!”

Being a parent is so strange, all our children’s pain belongs to us, but so does their joy.

One time the artist read an article suggesting that people will soon be able to live until they’re one hundred and fifty, which Ted thought sounded unbearable, because at this rate he wouldn’t be doing anything by then except peeing.

“Look at that happy idiot!” Joar grinned. “When he’s happy, the whole world is… good. When he draws, everything is… damn, then everything’s good! That’s why I have to protect you, Ted. Because the only thing I can do is fight, and when he’s grown-up he won’t need me anymore. But he’ll need you.” Ted had never heard anything more ridiculous in his whole life. “Why would he need me?” Joar turned and said: “Because loyalty is a superpower.”

“I think you’re like the drawing, you’re not ready yet. But one day I think you’re going to do something important. One day you’ll paint someone else’s postcard.”

“No. It isn’t hard at all. You loved each other so much that you were scared of accidentally breaking each other.”

You can’t love someone out of addiction, all the oceans are the tears of those who have tried. We’re not allowed to die for our children, the universe won’t let us, because then there wouldn’t be any mothers left.

Art is what we leave of ourselves in other people.”

The world is full of miracles, but none greater than how far a young person can be carried by someone else’s belief in them.

Disappointment is a powerful thing. Used correctly, it is stronger than fear, more terrible than physical pain, if you see it in the eyes of the one you love, you’ll do almost anything to make it stop.