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“We’re not the sort of people who tell tales about what others do,”
People said Ove saw the world in black and white. But she was color. All the color he had.
You miss the strangest things when you lose someone. Little things. Smiles.
“Men are what they are because of what they do. Not what they say,” said Ove.
Because a time comes in every man’s life when he decides what sort of man he’s going to be: the kind who lets other people walk all over him, or not.
when she giggled she sounded the way Ove imagined champagne bubbles would have sounded if they were capable of laughter.
“We can busy ourselves with living or with dying, Ove. We have to move on.”
“Loving someone is like moving into a house,”
For the greatest fear of death is always that it will pass us by. And leave us there alone.
One finds a way of living for the sake of someone else’s future.
