Why I Write About Good People

She leaned her chin on her elbow and watched through the window. Being asked to be the heroine of a novel was quite an honor, but she found herself quite ordinary. Her wardrobe was made of second-hand dresses she had repaired. Both her parents were alive and well. There was no dashing hero on a…

Credit: Nasjonalbiblioteket

The Art of Actual True Love

“My darling, I cannot remember what life was like before I touched your hand.” “You have a most wondrous hand! Holding it feels as if the world has begun anew.” “I have only one desire more: To come to the other side of the bench and behold your face.” “No, my love. This is why…