Tove expressed her views on life and art in the words of Snufkin’s Song.
I meander through the forests in the early spring when Nature is putting on her greatest show. Under limpid blue skies and clouds so white and striking, the earth breathes and emerges from beneath the snow. I wander where I will and I will be the one to choose. I’ll play my harp all night and day, or not if it feels wrong. Nothing do I own, so there’s nothing I can lose. I need to have the freedom to find my own song.
I sing a beautiful ode to a babbling brook and the moon will hear the language of quietness. The strings of my harp will snare birds with their honeyed hook and my harmonies will cure a mind of loneliness. But the evening shadows lengthen and the moment has fled and the most beautiful song of all escapes me. Spring’s melancholy melody plays within my head, and thoughts are all that’s left for the traveller who is free.