Есть на свете те, кто остается, и те, кто собирается в путь. И так было всегда. Каждый волен выбирать, покуда есть время, но после, сделав выбор, нельзя от него отступаться.

The hemulen woke up slowly and recognised himself and wished he had been someone he didn't know.

This has completely disturbed my peace," he complained. "A philosopher should be protected against the rude happenings of everyday life."
"Never mind," said Moominmamma, consolingly. "You'll soon feel better."
"But I do mind," said the Muskrat peevishly. "Never any peace ... " And he mumbled on.

People idealise their animals, and at the same time they patronisingly overlook a dog's natural life - biting fleas, burying bones, rolling in garbage, barking up an empty tree all night... But what do they do themselves? Bury stuff that will rot in secret and then dig it up and bury it again and rant and rave under empty trees!

Christmas always rustled. It rustled every time, mysteriously, with silver and gold paper, tissue paper and a rich abundance of shiny paper, decorating and hiding everything and giving a feeling of reckless extravagance.

Lie on the bridge and watch the water flowing past. Or run, or wade through the swamp in your red boots. Or roll yourself up and listen to the rain falling on the roof. It's very easy to enjoy yourself.