'It's a comet.' Said the Muskrat. 'A glowing star that flashes through the empty black space beyond the sky trailing a fiery tail behind it.'
- Comet in Moominland
April 1957
As I go about here, longing for you, and lose myself in my hopelessly big bed--I find myself thinking of those who have to snatch every minute. We've the whole summer waiting for us and it isn't far off!
Tove
26th June 1956
The wagtails were yelling in great agitation, complaining volubly because the copper jug we had our midsummer leaves in had fallen down and clearly frightened the babies out of their wits. They probably got a dousing as well.
Tove
Midsummer Day 1958.
And my request to you now, my darling, is to stay calmly on our island - that's the most important thing you can do and the one that will help me the most. I shall come to you, as long as you don't mind a little wait. Let me hug you close.
April 1957
But I was in raptures when they let me hold a bushbaby, a strange, fluffy little creature with little hands and enormous eyes. It was terribly cute and reminded me slightly of you!
Tove
28th June 1956
Suddenly there's a lot going on again. I'd hardly had time to make the bed before Bjorn Landström came over the hill, with Vivica after him - they'd both arrived by water taxi.
Tove
26th August 1966
The cat has just turned up and is yowling for food. Warm wishes to our friends and a big hug. I miss you, everything's a bit wrong without you.
Tove
10th July 1956.
Tuulikki, I long to read more in the book of you. I long for you in every way, and I'm more alone with all these people around me than when I was wandering about on my own, thinking of you.
20th November 1957
And I have the secret excitement of knowing that now I will be trying to describe my experiences, and you and your surroundings, in Finnish. It's the biggest present you've given me, for a long time, perhaps you don't realise.
Tove
Undated.
The cat wants to sleep now, it keeps clambering over the letter--so I shall kiss you goodnight and vanish into an enormous, lonely feather bed...
31st January 1947, to Vivica Bandler
You like me, don't you, even though I look like something the cat brought in and fail to send you the poems I ought to be writing in your honour every morning and evening, if I was remotely worth my salt.