روايات وقصص ضمن The Swedish Art Of Aging Exuberantly

"I but you love art, you love painting so much! It's your joy in life, and you even said that you would die holding a brush. I- I thought that you would always be there..." "I'm tired, Aira. I'm growing older, and I'm feeling it. I don't want to leave a painting unfinished. That's my worst fear right now, starting something and leaving it undone because I was too powerless to finish it. Or because I was too old to hold a brush anymore..." Her grandmother said looking at her, "This is what it's like to be old, I feel like if I take on too much it's gpoing to hit me harder and I won't be able to accept it,"

"But why carry pain when you could carry joy? Why remember her death when you could remember her life? It's such a small trade. And you'd be so much happier." "Keep walking, Mia," Axel urged. I kept walking. The voice faded, but I could feel the garden's attention still on me, waiting for another opening. We passed more deadies. A woman sitting on a bench, staring at nothing, smiling. A man walking in circles around the same tree, laughing at a joke only he could hear. A group having a picnic that never seemed to end, eating food that never ran out. "They look happy," Marcus said quietly. "They're not," Kara replied. "They're nothing. Happiness requires context. Sadness to contrast it agains

"Right. Look! He's cut your favorite cheese for you. He's so in love with you." "Yeah. He loves no one but you." People always emphasized what they lacked. Evan, at 17, knew that actions spoke louder than words. But he seemed to have forgotten this at 27. Wearing a self-deprecating smile, I glanced at Hannah beside him. She sported a head of glorious red hair, perfectly matching her passionate, open, and fiery nature—the very qualities that had taken Evan by storm. Female werewolves seemed to have great bodies, but Hannah had the best body among all of Evan's werewolf girlfriends. My human body certainly wasn't attractive enough for Evan.