Though my father was Norwegian, he always wrote his diaries in perfect English.

My father was a Norwegian who came from a small town near Oslo. He broke his arm at the elbow when he was 14, and they amputated it.

All Norwegian children learn to swim when they are very young because if you can't swim it is difficult to find a place to bathe.

The writer has to force himself to work. He has to make his own hours and if he doesn't go to his desk at all there is nobody to scold him.

A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom.

The fine line between roaring with laughter and crying because it's a disaster is a very, very fine line. You see a chap slip on a banana skin in the street and you roar with laughter when he falls slap on his backside. If in doing so you suddenly see he's broken a leg, you very quickly stop laughing and it's not a joke anymore.