Norwegian by Night (Sigrid Ødegård #1)

by Derek B. Miller

I’m not crossing the aisle of sanity. The aisle is crossing me.”

Without a future, the mind turned back in on itself. That’s not dementia. One might even say it’s the only rational response to the inevitable.

Only the educated stop to look for words—having enough to occasionally misplace them.

History itself constantly threatens to take him over and leave him defenseless under its weight. It’s not dementia. It’s mortality.

because how does he know when he’s done wrong? After all, does being all-knowing include self-knowledge? As He is the source of everything, can He possibly deny His own actions and condemn them? Against what? What’s the yardstick other than Himself?

For the sniper, the index finger was an instrument of death. But with the Leica he was being asked by his buddy to hold steady and use his training to find a composition in the image he saw, not a target. To use his finger to make that composition immortal, not to destroy it. To bring a moment into being, not to force its end.

“Don’t get old,” he says to Paul. “If Peter Pan shows up, just go.”