Fredrik Backman

Because this was what Ove had learned: if one didn’t have anything to say, one had to find something to ask. If there was one thing that made people forget to dislike one, it was when they were given the opportunity to talk about themselves.

Whatever some girlie in a yellow sweatshirt from the self-service warehouse has to say about it.

Ove feels an instinctive skepticism towards all people taller than six feet; the blood can’t quite make it all the way up to the brain

People said Ove saw the world in black and white. But she was color. All the color he had

You miss the strangest things when you lose someone. Little things. Smiles.

To lose your family long before you’ve had time to create your own to replace it. It’s a very specific sort of loneliness.

Men are what they are because of what they do. Not what they say,”

“all roads lead to something you were always predestined to do.”

This was a world where one became outdated before one’s time was up. An entire country standing up and applauding the fact that no one was capable of doing anything properly anymore. The unreserved celebration of mediocrity

A job well done is a reward in its own right