We’re alike, you and I,’ he thought. ‘We understand each other, we only care about beautiful things.

“You seem to be yourself again. Actually, you’re nicer that way.”

Welcome home, Moomin, safe and sound, and welcome, friends! Come gather around!

‘If you’re sore, you’re sore,’ observed Little My, peeling her potatoes with her teeth. ‘You have to be angry sometimes. Every little creep has a right to be angry.’

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

The faint whisper of rain and running water was still there and it had the same tender note of solitude and perfection. But what did the rain mean to him as long as he couldn’t write a song about it