“Then she turns to me. 'Tell me. How are you really?' she says, as if there were two versions of my life, and now she is not on the verge of tears at all, but sharp-voiced as an interrogator.” — Per Petterson Copy Share Image
I come from a working-class family. They're the people I know and the people I love, I guess. I do not write about them… — Per Petterson Copy Share Image
When my mother talked about her brother, there was this light in her eyes. I thought, 'This is the basis of a novel.' — Per Petterson Copy Share Image
“But life had shifted its weight from one point to another, from one leg to the other, like a silent giant in the vast… — Per Petterson Copy Share Image
“All my life I have longed to be alone in a place like this. Even when everything was going well, as it often did.… — Per Petterson Copy Share Image
“I distinctly heard the blackbird from the top of a spruce tree, and clear as glass I heard the lark high up and several… — Per Petterson Copy Share Image
I decided if I couldn't be a writer, my life would be miserable. I had this imaginary room of references to all the books… — Per Petterson Copy Share Image
“It is important not to be careless about supper when you are alone. It is easily done, boring as it is to cook for… — Per Petterson Copy Share Image
“We ran back, he first and I following him, between the beds and downstairs, and we picked up an armful of wood from the… — Per Petterson Copy Share Image
I rely heavily on rhythm when I write. You should tap your foot when you read it, all the way through. — Per Petterson Copy Share Image
“What I liked was the train ride. It took an hour and that was enough for me to be able to lean backwards against… — Per Petterson Copy Share Image
“...everything felt fine at that moment; the suit was fine, and the twon was fine to walk in, along the cobblestone street, and we… — Per Petterson Copy Share Image
