My Bag Was As Light As My

I Don't Want To Hear About Them Any More. I Could Vomit On The Moomintrolls.

Most Of The People Are Homesick Anyway, And A Little Lonely, And They Hide Themselves In Their Hair And Are Turned Into Flowers.

Christmas Always Rustled. It Rustled Every Time, Mysteriously, With Silver And Gold Paper, Tissue Paper And A Rich Abundance Of Shiny Paper, Decorating And Hiding Everything And Giving A Feeling Of Reckless Extravagance.

An Island Can Be Dreadful For Someone From Outside. Everything Is Complete, And Everyone Has His Obstinate, Sure And Self-sufficient Place. Within Their Shores, Everything Functions According To Rituals That Are As Hard As Rock From Repetition, And At The Same Time They Amble Through Their Days As Whimsically And Casually As If The World Ended At The Horizon.

It’s Strange,” Moominmamma Thought. “strange That People Can Be Sad, And Even Angry Because Life Is Too Easy. But That’s The Way It Is, I Suppose. The Only Thing To Do Is To Start Life Afresh.