Oda

“Time moves slowly, but passes quickly.”
― Alice Walker, The Color Purple

“I had always buried things, even when I was small; I remember that once I quartered the long field and buried something in each quarter to make the grass grow higher as I grew taller, so I would always be able to hide there. I once buried six blue marbles in the creek bed to make the river beyond run dry. 'Here is a treasure for you to bury,' Constance used to say to me when I was small, giving me a penny, or a bright ribbon; I had buried all my baby teeth as they came out one by one and perhaps someday they would grow as dragons. All our land was enriched with my treasures buried in it, thickly inhabited just below the surface with my marbles and my teeth and my colored stones, all perhaps turned to jewels by now, held together under the ground in a powerful taut web which never loosened, but held fast to guard us.”
― Shirley Jackson, We Have Always Lived in the Castle

“No one could become stranger than the person you once loved”
― Erich Maria Remarque, Arch of Triumph: A Novel of a Man Without a Country

“Jeg var bare trist. Jeg var bare skuffa. Vondt i kroppen, verk i hele meg. For Yngve var ikke der til å se meg. Hva kunne være viktigere, tenkte jeg, i min maniske, forelska logikk, enn å være her? Hva, Yngve? Jeg er jo her? Så syk kan du vel ikke være? Faen, hvor er du Yngve, det er jo helg, skal jeg ikke få se deg før mandag nå, da? Jeg er jo bare her for deg. Jeg har jo forandra meg for deg.”
― Tore Renberg, Mannen som elsket Yngve