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Her long hair lay in sticky tentacles, like a child’s drawing of the sun around her head.
But there is one set of eyes she doesn’t see. A set of eyes hidden behind sunglasses, watching her body as if it belonged to him. As if her skin were a canvas. If she’ll only reconsider what she’s doing, she still has time to prevent it. But she doesn’t.
Heavyhearted is the most incisive expression, she thought. That’s exactly how I feel. A gravestone in my chest.
Why couldn’t he even work up the guts to develop an honest alcohol problem?
Jeppe glanced down at the fallen flower petals and pigeon droppings in the gravel. At the moment, the combination seemed like a fitting image of Copenhagen: a mosaic of flowers and shit.
Falck cleared his throat. “What do you call a fake noodle?” he asked. Sara looked up at his round, friendly face and couldn’t help but smile. “An impasta,” Falck said with a cheerful wink.
Saidani nodded, her curly ponytail bobbing. Out of the blue it struck Jeppe that she would be pretty if she let her hair down.
why does everyone focus on a whether a woman is or can be pretty or not? so ridiculous
When you love someone, the callousness moves from your heart to the palms of your hands.
Alcohol is a deceitful lover, so sweet at night but savage the morning after.
Some burdens don’t become easier to bear just because you share them.
THERE’S A VERY fine line between seizing an opportunity and doing something that you know is just downright stupid. Sometimes the road less traveled is only traveled less because it leads you straight off a cliff.
The disadvantage to feeling whole with another human being is that when they go, you’re left with half a person at most.
“Isn’t that the only thing worth dying for, Jeppe? A child?”
And just like that the tragedy was bearable, inexplicably relieved by the light from the starry sky. The grandeur of the universe.
Yes, we’re all going to die, she thought. But I’m not dead yet.
