Walking had been easy, because his knapsack was nearly empty and he had no worries on his mind. He felt happy about the wood and the weather, and himself. Tomorrow and yesterday were both at a distance, and just at present the sun was shining brightly between the birches, and the air was cool and soft.

One can’t be too dangerous, if they like to eat pancakes. Especially with jam on it.

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

One by one, the snowflakes floated down on to his warm snout, and melted. He reached out to grab them so he could admire them for a fleeting moment. He looked towards the sky and watched them drift down towards him, more and more, soft and light as a feather. ‘So that’s how it works,’ thought Moomintroll. ‘And I thought somehow that the snow grew from the ground up!

“I do not understand why the heroine in the book is always prettier than the one at home.”

‘I’m frightened’, whispered the smallest little one, pulling on Snufkin’s sleeve.
‘Keep hold of me. Everything will be all right,’ comforted Snufkin.
‘It’s all over now, Sniff’ said Snufkin. ‘Don’t cry, dear friend.’

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

‘Tonight is the night for a song,’ thought Snufkin. ‘I’ll think up a new song that is one part anticipation, two parts pining for spring, and the rest a joyous declaration of how wonderful it is to be alone and at peace with yourself.’

“Making a journey by night is more wonderful than anything in the world.”

I knew nothing, but I believed a lot.

You are like Diana, Moomintroll said admiringly.
– Who is she? asked the Snorkmaiden, obviously flattered
– She was the goddess of hunting, explained Moomintroll.
As beautiful as the Wooden Queen and just as clever as you.

“Hope for the best and prepare for the worst.”

Quite, quite,’ she thought with a little sigh. ‘It’s always like this in their adventures. To save and be saved. I wish somebody would write a story sometime about the people who warm up the heroes afterward.

The very last house stood all by itself under a dark green wall of fir-trees, and here the wild country really began. Snufkin walked faster and faster straight into the forest. Then the door of the last house opened a chink and a very old voice cried: ‘Where are you off to?’
‘I don’t know,’ Snufkin replied.
The door shut again and Snufkin entered his forest, with a hundred miles of silence ahead of him.