I want your first trip to be with me. I want to show you cities and landscapes and teach you how to look at things in new ways and how to get along in places you don't already know inside out. I want to put some life in you.

There are such a lot of things that have no place in summer and autumn and spring. Everything that’s a little shy and a little rum. Some kinds of night animals and people that don’t fit in with others and that nobody really believes in. They keep out of the way all the year. And then when everything’s quiet and white and the nights are long and most people are asleep—then they appear.

One ought to have the right to have a secret and to spring it as a surprise. But if you live inside a family you have neither.

The thing about God, she thought, is that He usually does help, but not until you've made an effort on your own.

I need to write down my observations. Even the tiniest ones; they're the most important.

Making a journey by night is more wonderful than anything in the world.

I'll have to calm down a bit. Or else I'll burst with happiness