Britt Quotes

We want to be loved,’ ” quotes Britt-Marie. “ ‘Failing that, admired; failing that, feared; failing that, hated and despised. At all costs we want to stir up some sort of feeling in others. The soul abhors a vacuum. At all costs it longs for contact.’ 

One morning you wake up with more life behind you than in front of you, not being able to understand how it’s happened.

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?

Doing business without advertising is like winking at a girl in the dark. You know what you are doing but nobody else does.

An unreasonable amount of paperwork is required these days just to be a human being.

Because if we don’t forgive those we love, then what is left? What is love if it’s not loving our lovers even when they don’t deserve it?

A human being may not choose her circumstances, but she does choose her actions

If you can be heard then you exist.

A few years turned into more years, and more years turned into all years. Years have a habit of behaving like that.

It’s difficult to know when love blooms; suddenly one day you wake up and it’s in full flower. It works the same way when it wilts—one day it is just too late.

You have to understand that when one is just standing there looking, then just for a second one is ready to jump. If one does it, one dares to do it. But if one waits, it’ll never happen.

A human being, any human being at all, has so perishingly few chances to stay right there, to let go of time and fall into the moment. And to love someone without measure, explode with passion... A few times when we are children, maybe, for those of us who are allowed to be... But after that? How many breaths are we allowed to take beyond the confines of ourselves? How many pure emotions make us cheer out loud without a sense of shame? How many chances do we get to be blessed by amnesia? All passion is childish, it's banal and naive, it's nothing we learn, it's instinctive, and so it overwhelms us... Overturns us... It bears us away in a flood... All other emotions belong to the earth, but passion inhabits the universe. That is the reason why passion is worth something. Not for what it gives us, but for what it demands that we risk - our dignity, the puzzlement of others in their condescending shaking heads...

Because those four days in the mountains, they changed us. I gave you a piece of me. And you must have given me a piece of yourself, too, because you wouldn't have come here otherwise. You would have let go. I can't let go of you, Britt. And I don't want you to let go of me.

If a human being closes her eyes hard enough and for long enough, she can remember pretty well everything that has made her happy.

Soccer forces life to move on. There’s always a new match. A new season. There’s always a dream that everything can get better. It’s a game of wonders.

I like having you around, Britt. That's the truth. I'm not leaving you. Even if you were a pain in the butt, I'd stay with you. It's the right thing to do. But it turns out I find you likable and interesting, and while I'm not glad you have to go through this, I'm glad we have each other.

We get so worried about being pretty. Let’s be pretty kind. Pretty funny. Pretty smart. Pretty strong.

We,” King Lot said, his eyes cold and piercing. “Will refuse any gifts this beardless boy offers us.” “Is there a reason why he is so obsessed with my lack of a beard?” Britt sighed.

You love football because it is instinctive. If a ball comes rolling down the street you give it a punt. You love it for the same reason you fall in love. Because you don't know how to avoid it.

She wonders how much space a person has left in her soul to change herself, once she gets older. What people does she still have to meet, what will they see in her, and what will they make her see in herself?

All other emotions belong to the earth, but passion inhabits the universe.

The winter requires whoever is doing the watering to have a bit of faith, in order to believe that what looks empty has every potential.

When she realizes that they are about to fall, she summons the strength to stand on her own two feet. Because that is what women like Britt-Marie do. They find the strength when they have to do something for others.

All passion is childish. It's banal and naive. It's nothing we learn; it's instinctive, and so it overwhelms us. Overturns us. It bears us away in a flood. All other emotions belong to earth, but passion inhabits the universe. That is the reason why passion is worth something, not for what it gives us but for what it demands we risk. Our dignity. The puzzlement of others and their condescending, shaking heads

The reason for her love of maps. It’s half worn away, the dot, and the red color is bleached. Yet it’s there, flung down there on the map halfway between the lower left corner and its center, and next to it is written, “You are here.” Sometimes it’s easier to go on living, not even knowing who you are, when at least you know precisely where you are while you go on not knowing

Sometimes it’s easier to go on living, not even knowing who you are, when at least you know precisely where you are while you go on not knowing.

All marriages have their bad sides, because people have weaknesses. If you live with another human being you learn to handle these weaknesses in a variety of ways. For instance, you might take the view that weaknesses are a bit like heavy pieces of furniture, and based on this you must learn to clean around them. To maintain the illusion.

What does it mean when someone supports Manchester United or whatever it's called?" ... "They always win. So they've started believing they deserve to.

A year turned into several years, and several years turned into all the years. One morning you wake up with more life behind you than in front of you, not being able to understand how it's happened.

No matter what you've been told, your worth more than gold.

If you have a dad who supports Liverpool you always fucking think you can turn anything around. You know! Ever since that Champions League final.

But in the end all he can manage to utter is: “I want you to know, Britt-Marie, that every time there’s a knock on my front door, I hope it’s you.

Because life is more than the shoes your feet are in. More than the person you are. It's the togetherness. The parts of yourself in another. Memories and walls and cupboards and drawers with compartments for cutlery, so you know where everything is.

You’re never quite alone when you can stand on a balcony—you have all the cars and houses and the people in the streets. You’re among them, but also not. That’s the best thing about balconies.

My mother worked for the social services all her life. She always said that in the middle of all the crap, in the thick of it all, you always had a sunny story turning up. Which makes it all worthwhile.' The next words that come are smiling. 'You're my sunny story, Britt-Marie.

When was the last time you were kissed?" he went on easily. "And I'm not talking about the dry, noncommittal, meaningless kiss you forget about as soon as it's over." I scrambled out of my stupor long enough to quip, "Like last night's kiss?" He cocked an eyebrow. "That so? I wonder, then, why you moaned my name after you drifted to sleep." "I did not!" "If only I'd had a video recorder. When was the last time you were really kissed?" he repeated. "You seriously think I'm going to tell you?" "Your ex?" he guessed. "And if he was?" "Was it your ex who taught you to be ashamed and uncomfortable with intimacy? He took from you what he wanted, but never seemed to be around when you wanted something back, isn't that right? What do you want, Britt?" he asked me point-blank. "Do you really want to pretend like last night never happened?" "Whatever happened between me and Calvin isn't your business,” I fired back. "For your information, he was a really great boyfriend. I-I wish I was with him right now!" I exclaimed untruthfully. My careless comment made him flinch, but he recovered quickly. "Does he love you?" "What?" I said, flustered. "If you know him so well, it shouldn't be a hard question. Is he in love with you? Was he ever in love with you?" I tossed my head back haughtily. "I know what you're doing. You're trying to cut him down because you're-you're jealous of him!" "You're damn right I'm jealous,” he growled. "When I kiss a girl, I like to know she's thinking about me, not the fool who gave her up.

Human beings are the only animals that smile as a gesture of peace, whereas other animals show their teeth as a threat.

Granny always said Britt-Marie was the sort of woman who would have to drink two glasses of wine and feel really wild and crazy to be able to fantasize about solving a crossword in ink.

Und wenn ich mal heirate, dann muss mein Mann zwei Bedingungen erfüllen: Er muss Bücher und Kinder lieben, alles andere ist nicht so wichtig. Ich meine, wie er aussieht und so. Obwohl es ja nicht schaden könnte, wenn er schöne Zähne hätte.

you're Worth More Than Gold

In seasons of hiddenness our sense of value is disrupted, stripped of what "others" affirmed us to be. In this season God intends to give us an unshakable identity in Him, that no amount of adoration nor rejection can alter.

If you support Tottenham you always give more love than you get back... Tottenham is the worst kind of bad team, because they're almost good. They always promise that they're going to be fantastic. They make you hope. So you go on loving them and they carry on finding more and more innovative ways of disappointing you

I’m lucky summers are cool here, or this would really be the pits,” Britt muttered, hiking up her pantyhose. (Merlin still insisted they were called chausses. Britt knew better.)

Jesus appears to have walked unstressed and unhurried. His peaceful pace seems to imply that he measured himself not by where he was going and how fast he could get there but by whom he was following and how closely they walked together.

Life is a journey, not so much to a destination, but a transformation.

Exclusion lights up the same regions of the brain as physical pain.

Britt-Marie feels Fredrik’s hateful stare at her back as she and Vega follow her down the corridor, so she slows and walks behind Vega, to stop his stares hitting the girl.

Normal life is presentable. In normal life, you clean up the kitchen and keep your balcony tidy and take care of your children. It's hard work--harder than one might think.

It takes years to know a human being. An entire lifetime. It's what makes a home a home.

Britt's frequent romances always took off like rockets propelled by promise and power and star-crossed destiny. Then, a few months in, they all fizzled like a Tesla fifty miles from the nearest charging station.

I was eighteen now, just gone. Eighteen was not a young age. At eighteen old Wolfgang Amadeus had written concertos and symphonies and operas and oratorios and all that cal, no, not cal, heavenly music. And then there was old Felix M. with his "Midsummer Night's Dream" Overture. And there were others. And there was this like French poet set by old Benjy Britt, who had done all his best poetry by the age of fifteen, O my brothers. Arthur, his first name. Eighteen was not all that young an age then. But what was I going to do?

Britt said, standing up. “You know, Merlin, I’m starting to think your magic might be all talk.” “What?” Merlin squawked. “You can’t break Morgause’s enchantment, and you can’t help me understand Gawain. It seems like there isn’t much you can do,” Britt said. “You ungrateful pig-child. Of course I can do magic. Lots of magic! I brought you here didn’t I?” Merlin said.

I want someone to know I’m here.

What’s it about this time?” I ask. “Pop Tarts,” Britt says. Hailey turns to us and points at Luke. “This jerk actually said they’re better warmed up in the microwave.” “Eww,” I say, instead of my usual “Ill,” and Maya goes, “Are you serious?

With Britt Wendt to pine for, watching videos of strangers having sex felt sacrilegious, like squirting a mayonnaise packet into your mouth while riding the elevator up to Per Se. “Hi

Of course the dust is building up unseen, but you learn to repress this for as long as it goes unnoticed by guests. And then one day someone moves a piece of furniture without your say-so, and everything comes into plain view. Dirt and scratch marks. Permanent damage to the parquet floor. By then it’s too late.

I was going to bring Sir Kay and Gawain with me, but at the last minute Lancelot pushed Kay back.So I had no choice but to bring Lancelot in Kay’s place,” Merlin said, sounding just the smallest bit disgusted. “I find myself gladdened by this news,” Britt said. Merlin raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Are you?” Lancelot beamed. “I am pleased my presence delights you, My Lord.” “It’s not that. Since you kept Kay from coming to get me,in all likeliness that means you are now higher on his list of people to MAIM than I am,” Britt said. Merlin coughed to cover a laugh,

I väntrummet sitter Britt-Marie kvar. Ensam. Inte ens kakaduan är kvar. Om Britt-Marie hade rest sig och gått så hade nog ingen kommit ihåg att hon varit där. Hon ser ut att tänka på det ett ögonblick. Sedan borstar hon något osynligt från kanten av bordet och rättar till ett veck i sin kjol, och sedan reser hon sig och går.

Have it in your heart and have it in your head. Let the Word of Christ dwell richly in you. Because when someone looks you in the eyes and says your five-year-old daughter has a cancerous tumor the size of a Nerf football, you better know some Bible.

the stables. “My Lord,” he said, sketching a bow to Britt. “A guest has just arrived at Camelot. A Royal guest—a lady!” the young boy said, looking horrified. Britt held back a groan, but couldn’t stop her expression of disdain. “Inform the lady I am busy with kingly affairs and send Merlin to greet her.” “Merlin already has greeted her,” the page said, his eyes bulging. “She hit him with a club.” “Never mind, I shall meet this curious lady myself,” Britt said, brushing horse hair from her clothes.

Maybe your life was always falling apart, but now you're starting to care

Letting go doesn't mean letting go of his memories. It means letting go of the pain. You get to keep the rest.

If you mix vanilla extract with baking soda, the refrigerator smells fresh.

It’s easier to stay optimistic if you never have to clear up the mess afterwards.

You do get irritated by someone taking an interest in you, when you’re not used to it.

They forgot what made them successful.” “What do you do when that happens?” “You start again.

She’s frozen to the spot, held in place by a whole lifetime of thwarted ambitions.

She has not run down the stairs like this since she was a teenager, when your heart reaches the front door before your feet.

She's holding a crossword magazine in her hand. Britt-Marie likes crosswords very much because there are very clear rules about how to do them, She only ever does them in pencil, though - Granny always said Britt-Marie was the sort of woman who would have to drink two glasses of wine and feel really wild and crazy to be able to fantasise about solving a crossword in ink.

All passion is childish. It's banal and naive. It's nothing we learn; it's instinctive, and so it overwhelms us. Overturns us. It bears us away in a flood. All other emotions belong to the earth, but passion inhabits the universe.

Britt said "If you will excuse me, My Lady.” “You leave?” “I do.” “How can you?” “Quite easily, I assure you.” Tears welled up in Guinevere’s eyes. “Will you not give me a token to remember you by?” Britt frowned. “You’re nuts aren’t you?” she said before recovering and adopting the proper words. “Forgive me, My Lady, but we have met for but a few moments. What is there to remember?

Britt Said “I’m glad.” Merlin nodded “If you’re so glad then you should work to win over more of your men.” “Yes, Merlin.” “Don’t you ‘yes, Merlin’ me!” “Of course, Merlin.” “That’s hardly any better.” “You don’t think I know that?” “Harridan.” “I find it amusing that you resort to name calling when you can’t think of anything better to say.” “Only to those who deserve it.” “Yes, Merlin.

The same thing happens every time- another hole opens up in my rib cage. Hearing everything. Hearing nothing.

The Highest Reward for men and women 's devotion and dedication to excellence is not what one gets from it but what one he or she becomes through it.

Soccer is a curious game, because it doesn’t ask to be loved. It demands it.

Death is the ultimate state of powerlessness. Powerlessness is the ultimate despair.

I was under the impression that one became a policeman because one believes in rules and regulations." "I think Sven became a policeman because he believes in justice.

It’s hard not to want to go back to your normal life once you know how difficult it is to start again.

War is the extreme expression of division between people… but people are beguiled into this catastrophic trap by countless tiny steps of division. It begins way back in the virtuous little dissociations of oneself from the weaknesses that are all too evident in one’s neighbor.

listen, God is not some little genie or a vending machine. And is not just worth it because he makes your life all better, but He's with you. God wants so much more for your life than fine

If a human being closes her eyes hard and long enough, she can remember all the times she has made a choice in her life just for her own sake. And realize, perhaps, that it has never happened.

But God made us to life in community, to laugh and cry. To hurt and to celebrate with each other, no matter what were going through. And transformation is tough, and we dont always end up where we think we will. But we have to remember, that even when we struggle to believe in Him, He always believes in us. He fills our lives with purpose and passion, if we just let Him. And the best part of the journey, is that the God of the universe, sometimes allows us to play a part in changing the world.

Just like in Jane Eyre, the moral of the story would be 'never forget that you're nothing but a sad sausage.

No matter what is happening in the world, I continue to believe in humanity. The power of positive thinking is always enough.

Jag vill vara ett fall alldeles för mig själv, ett som kräver specialkonstruerade skalor och inte kan mätas med andras mått.

I am my own cannibal.

There is a God-shaped vacuum in the heart of every person, and it can never be filled by any created thing.

You know, dear, sometimes you find what you're looking for, but not what you're expecting" -The Great Moodler

Moodling is daydreaming, letting your mind wander, losing track of time, and, in the most severe cases...doing nothing" -Dill

When you hear the call to happiness, it is your responsibility to answer it.

Britt-Marie has never used any other brand than Faxin. She saw an advertisement for it in her father’s morning newspaper when she was a child. A woman stood looking out of a clean window and underneath was written: FAXIN LETS YOU SEE THE WORLD. Britt-Marie loved that picture. As soon as she was old enough to have her own windows, she polished them with Faxin, continued doing so daily for the rest of her life, and never had any problems seeing the world. It was just that the world did not see her.

Only Merlin and her guards ever woke her in the mornings, and her guards only shouted to her through the doors. Britt picked her head off her pillow. “Merlin?” Merlin, once again standing out in the hallway, hissed through the door.“You’re still in bed.” “Yeah, so?” “It is indecent for you to allow a man into your bedchambers when you are still in bed!” Britt rolled her eyes and sat up. “What did you want?” “Get up. We’re going to mass.” “No, we’re not. You might be, but I’m not.” “Oh yes you are, you little heathen.” “It’s boring. The pastor only talks in Greek or Hebrew or whatever that language is.” “He’s the archbishop, and he conducts the service in Latin.” “Mmm, yeah that,” Britt said, falling back into her bed with a thump. “Do not lie back down you unschooled foundling!” “Too late,” Britt said. “If you want me to go to mass you’re going to have to drag me out of here. How indecent would that be?

Bitch. Noun. Though formal definitions dictate a worthless woman, a shameful she-devil, a heinous hellcat, a shrill shrew, a curse of a cunt, or someone of the like... we all know a man wrote that shit.

The purpose of Lent is not to force on us a few formal obligations, but to ‘soften’ our heart so that it may open itself to the realities of the spirit, to experience the hidden ‘thirst and hunger’ for communion with God.

In these early anonymous seasons, God graciously grants us the opportunity to wrestle with our appetites before other lives are at stake, to struggle with our passions privately before moral collapse affects the innocent publicly.

Christian spirituality, the contemplative life, is not about us. It is about God. The great weakness of American spirituality is that it is all about us: fulfilling our potential, getting the blessings of God, expanding our influence, finding our gifts, getting a handle on principles by which we can get an edge over the competition. The more there is of us, the less there is of God. —EUGENE PETERSON

I just kept moodling. I came up with hundreds of ideas. Most of them were too small, but I kept at it and after a while I moodled up a few big ones. With some tinkering, I turned those big ideas into real possibilities and from there I created my masterpiece..." -Dill

Jesus’ true strength was not revealed in his ability to teach and lead the multitudes. It was manifested in his willingness to make himself nothing, to suffer, and to die. I had enough strength to exhaust myself studying, mentoring, and teaching, but I did not possess sufficient strength to be nothing.

All marriages have their bad sides, because all people have weaknesses. If you live with another human being you learn to handle these weaknesses in a variety of ways. For instance, you might take the view that weaknesses are a bit like heavy pieces of furniture, and based on this you must learn to clean around them. To maintain the illusion. Of course the dust is building up unseen, but you learn to repress this for as long as it goes unnoticed by guests. And then one day someone moves a piece of furniture without your say-so, and everything comes into plain view. Dirt and scratch marks. Permanent damage to the parquet floor. By then it’s too late.

On the bus, I pull out my book. It's the best book I've ever read, even if I'm only halfway through. It's called Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, with two dots over the e. Jane Eyre lives in England in Queen Victoria's time. She's an orphan who's taken in by a horrid rich aunt who locks her in a haunted room to punish her for lying, even though she didn't lie. Then Jane is sent to a charity school, where all she gets to eat is burnt porridge and brown stew for many years. But she grows up to be clever, slender, and wise anyway. Then she finds work as a governess in a huge manor called Thornfield, because in England houses have names. At Thornfield, the stew is less brown and the people less simple. That's as far as I've gotten... Diving back into Jane Eyre... Because she grew up to be clever, slender and wise, no one calls Jane Eyre a liar, a thief or an ugly duckling again. She tutors a young girl, Adèle, who loves her, even though all she has to her name are three plain dresses. Adèle thinks Jane Eyre's smart and always tells her so. Even Mr. Rochester agrees. He's the master of the house, slightly older and mysterious with his feverish eyebrows. He's always asking Jane to come and talk to him in the evenings, by the fire. Because she grew up to be clever, slender, and wise, Jane Eyre isn't even all that taken aback to find out she isn't a monster after all... Jane Eyre soon realizes that she's in love with Mr. Rochester, the master of Thornfield. To stop loving him so much, she first forces herself to draw a self-portrait, then a portrait of Miss Ingram, a haughty young woman with loads of money who has set her sights on marrying Mr. Rochester. Miss Ingram's portrait is soft and pink and silky. Jane draws herself: no beauty, no money, no relatives, no future. She show no mercy. All in brown. Then, on purpose, she spends all night studying both portraits to burn the images into her brain for all time. Everyone needs a strategy, even Jane Eyre... Mr. Rochester loves Jane Eyre and asks her to marry him. Strange and serious, brown dress and all, he loves her. How wonderful, how impossible. Any boy who'd love a sailboat-patterned, swimsuited sausage who tames rabid foxes would be wonderful. And impossible. Just like in Jane Eyre, the story would end badly. Just like in Jane Eyre, she'd learn the boy already has a wife as crazy as a kite, shut up in the manor tower, and that even if he loves the swimsuited sausage, he can't marry her. Then the sausage would have to leave the manor in shame and travel to the ends of the earth, her heart in a thousand pieces... Oh right, I forgot. Jane Eyre returns to Thornfield one day and discovers the crazy-as-a-kite wife set the manor on fire and did Mr. Rochester some serious harm before dying herself. When Jane shows up at the manor, she discovers Mr. Rochester in the dark, surrounded by the ruins of his castle. He is maimed, blind, unkempt. And she still loves him. He can't believe it. Neither can I. Something like that would never happen in real life. Would it? ... You'll see, the story ends well.