A Man Called Ove: A Novel

Death is a strange thing. People live their whole lives as if it does not exist, and yet it’s often one of the great motivations for living.

People didn’t know how to do that anymore, brew some proper coffee. In the same way as nowadays nobody could write with a pen. Because now it was all computers and espresso machines. And where was the world going if people couldn’t even write or brew a pot of coffee?

“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This was a world where one became outdated before one’s time was up.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

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

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.

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