But he thought all the strange words were beautiful, and he had never had a book of his own before. — Tove Jansson Copy Share Image
Now everything was changed. She walked about with cautious, anxious steps, staring constantly at the ground, on the lookout for things that… — Tove Jansson Copy Share Image
When Mats came in the evenings, they would drink tea in the kitchen while reading their books and talking about them. If… — Tove Jansson Copy Share Image
One summer morning at sunrise a long time ago I met a little girl with a book under her arm. I asked… — Tove Jansson Copy Share Image
I'm not sure I would have ever started to draw, let alone write, if my childhood hadn't been so happy. It was a mixture… — Tove Jansson Copy Share Image
“The star we're looking for isn't so very friendly," said Moomintroll. "Quite the contrary, in fact." "What did you say?" said Sniff. Moomintroll went… — Tove Jansson Copy Share Image
It looks rather ordinary," said the Snork. "Unless you consider that a top hat is always somewhat extraordinary, of course. — Tove Jansson Copy Share Image
“But Moominpappa wasn't listening, because just at that moment he had got the right grip on a big round boulder, and with a great… — Tove Jansson Copy Share Image
Everyone must imagine his own snakes because no one else's snakes can ever be as awful. — Tove Jansson Copy Share Image
All men have parties and are pals who never let each other down. A pal can say terrible things which are forgotten the next… — Tove Jansson Copy Share Image
Someone who eats pancakes and jam can't be so awfully dangerous. You can talk to him. — Tove Jansson Copy Share Image
“I cannot stress enough the perils of your friends marrying or becoming court inventors. One day you are all a society of outlaws, adventurous… — Tove Jansson Copy Share Image
“Sophia," she said, "this is really not something to argue about. You can see for yourself that life is hard enough without being punished… — Tove Jansson Copy Share Image
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… — Tove Jansson Copy Share Image
It is still summer, but the summer is no longer alive. It has come to a standstill; nothing withers, and fall is not ready… — Tove Jansson Copy Share Image
