Jane wondered why small-minded people often form such large groups as she made her way home.

It was as hard to be a Norwegian in 1881 as it was to be an American in 1770. Perhaps even harder, as Norway was far from a young nation.

I need a seatbelt on an airplane like a hole in the head,” thought Jane, as she smiled back.

Their faces were contorted with a horror only known to those who have silenced their consciences.

You want to know the secret to raising good kids?”“What’s that? asked Thomas.“High expectations.”Thomas laughed. “Alright, well what’s the secret to a happy marriage?”Clyde smiled back, but his face started to fall, and he chose his words carefully. “… Low expectations.

The years of his life had not been gentle, and there was something untamable about him; his eyes seemed to say everything and nothing at all, almost as if they spoke a dying language few could appreciate or even understand.

Scars are something of a body’s memoir.