I love borders. August is the border between summer and autumn; it is the most beautiful month I know.

Before we left, Grandmother talked a lot about the arctic night we would fly through. 'Isn't it a mystical word, "arctic"? Pure and quite hard. And meridians. Isn't that pretty? We're going to fly along them, faster than the light can follow us... Time won't be able to catch us.

I don't want to hear about them any more. I could vomit on the Moomintrolls.

My bag was as light as my happy-go-lucky heart.

But he thought all the strange words were beautiful, and he had never had a book of his own before.

Gathering is peculiar, because you see nothing but what you're looking for. If you're picking raspberries, you see only what's red, and if you're looking for bones you see only the white. No matter where you go, the only thing you see is bones.

Why are you in such a rush?" Sophia asked, and her grandmother answered that it was a good idea to do things before you forgot that they had to be done.