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They were always doing something. Quietly, without interruption, and with great concentration, they carried on with the hundred-and-one small things that made up their world.

Tove Jansson

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Tove Jansson
Age: 86 †
Born: 1914
Born: August 9
Died: 2001
Died: June 27
Cartoonist
Illustrator
Novelist
Painter
Writer
Helsingfors
Tove Marika Jansson
Tove M. Jansson
Things
Concentration
World
Hundred
Small
Without
Great
Interruption
Made
Interruptions
Something
Quietly
Always
Carried

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There's no need to imagine that you're a wondrous beauty, because that's what you are.
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One makes a trip by day, but by night one sets out on a journey.
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When Mats came in the evenings, they would drink tea in the kitchen while reading their books and talking about them. If Katri came in, they were quiet and waited for her to leave. The back door would close, and Katri would have gone. “Does your sister read our books?” Anna wanted to know. “No. She reads literature.
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I don't want to hear about them any more. I could vomit on the Moomintrolls.
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I mean, anyone can let Danger out but the really clever thing is finding somewhere for it to go afterwards.
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The lamp sizzled as it burned. It made everything seem close and safe, a little family circle they all knew and trusted. Outside this circle lay everything that was strange and frightening, and the darkness seemed to reach higher and higher and further and further away, right to the end of the world.
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Everyone must imagine his own snakes because no one else's snakes can ever be as awful.
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You can't ever be really free if you admire somebody too much.
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You can't always be friendly. It's impossible, there isn't the time.
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It's risky to talk about one's most secret dreams a bit too early.
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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.
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''Just think, never to be glad or disappointed. Never to like anyone and get cross at him and forgive him. Never to sleep or feel cold, never to make a mistake and have a stomach-ache and be cured from it, never to have a birthday party, drink beer, and have a bad conscience... How terrible.
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It was a particularly good evening to begin a book.
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...by and by a change came: I started to muse about the shape of my nose. I put my trivial surroundings aside and mused more and more about myself, and I found this to be a bewitching occupation. I stopped asking and longed instead to speak of my thoughts and feelings. Alas, there was no one besides myself who found me interesting.
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The hemulen woke up slowly and recognised himself and wished he had been someone he didn't know.
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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.
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Lie on the bridge and watch the water flowing past. Or run, or wade through the swamp in your red boots. Or roll yourself up and listen to the rain falling on the roof. It's very easy to enjoy yourself.
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But he thought all the strange words were beautiful, and he had never had a book of his own before.
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It’s only the sea,’ said Moomintroll. ‘Every wave that dies on the beach sings a little song to a shell. But you mustn’t go inside because it’s a labyrinth and you may never come out again.
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