I turn to books for a feeling of companionship: for somebody knowing what I have known.

"I liked the feeling of love," [Jonas] confessed. He glanced nervously at the speaker on the wall, reassuring himself that no one was listening. "I wish we still had that," he whispered. "Of course," he added quickly, "I do understand that it wouldn't work very well. And that it's much better to be organized the way we are now. I can see that it was a dangerous way to live." [...] "Still," he said slowly, almost to himself, "I did like the light they made. And the warmth."

So many of my books, I don't want to say they have messages, but they have important things to say.

He was free to enjoy the breathless glee that overwhelmed him: the speed, the clear cold air, the total silence, the feeling of balance and excitement and peace.

If you were to be lost in the river, Jonas, your memories would not be lost with you. Memories are forever.

The life where nothing was ever unexpected. Or inconvenient. Or unusual. The life without colour, pain or past.

There was just a moment when things weren't quite the same, weren't quite as they had always been through the long friendship