My Friends

by Fredrik Backman

“Meet” is probably the wrong word, no one met Joar, because you don’t “meet” a natural disaster, you get hit by it.

but the problem with never wanting to disappoint your friends is that when your friends are in Heaven, they can see everything you do, the bastards.

He didn’t know a damn thing about art, his hands just drew for the same reason that some feet dance: they don’t know how to stop.

When you get old, gravity pulls the corners of your mouth down, the road to a smile grows longer.

he and Mom weren’t like two magnets. They were like two colors. Once they were mixed together, there was no way of separating them.”