My Friends

by Fredrik Backman

Art is what can’t fit inside a person. The things that bubble over,”

The middle of summer vacation is a quite specific sort of sadness.

It is an act of violence when an adult yells at a child, all adults know that deep down, because all adults were once little. Yet we still do it. Time after time, we fail at being human beings.

Of course, Joar’s old man always promised not to do it again, but that only meant he always hit her as if it was his last chance.

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.

That’s the worst thing about death, that it happens over and over again. That the human body can cry forever.

Because art is a fragile magic, just like love, and that’s humanity’s only defense against death. That we create and paint and dance and fall in love, that’s our rebellion against eternity. Everything beautiful is a shield.