At a certain age almost all the questions a person asks him or herself are really just about one thing: how should you live your life?
One morning you wake up with more life behind you than in front of you, not being able to understand how it’s happened.
That we do our best. We plant an apple tree today, even if we know the world is going to be destroyed tomorrow. We save those we can.
And she wept. An ancient, inconsolable despair that screamed and tore and shredded them both as countless hours passed.
That's the power of literature, you know, it can act like little love letters between two people who can only explain their feelings by pointing at other people's.
She just smiled, said that she loved books more than anything, and started telling him excitedly what each of the ones in her lap was about. And Ove realised that he wanted to hear her talking about the things she loved for the rest of his life.
