Frida Åberg

“The name of the pub is the Perdition. A thick layer of soot coats the walls but anyone who strains a little can make out the mural. It is the dance of death. Peasants and burghers, noblemen and priests, join hands around a skeleton who is playing a fiddle as black as tar. The painting makes many ill at ease and the few customers can be easily counted until the hour is late and the level of intoxication has stripped all decorations of their relevance. The innkeeper Gedda has opposed all attempts at persuasion to whitewash his walls. The mural is painted by Hoffbro himself, he snarls, and a masterpiece at that.”
― Niklas Natt och Dag, The Wolf and the Watchman

“A melancholy-looking man, he had the appearance of one who has searched for the leak in life's gas-pipe with a lighted candle.”
― P.G. Wodehouse, The Man Upstairs and Other Stories

“I'll make my report as if I told a story, for I was taught as a child on my homeworld that Truth is a matter of the imagination.”
― Ursula K. LeGuin, The Left Hand of Darkness

“I would always rather be happy than dignified.”
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre