A good story can travel in time and borders; it hits you no

When Hakan Nesser declared, “A good story can travel in time and borders; it hits you no matter where you are,” he gave voice to a truth older than kings and older than nations. For long before the walls of cities were built, before men carved laws upon stone or raised banners in the field, there were stories—words carried from mouth to ear, from heart to heart, shaping the minds of tribes, binding together generations, and lighting the path of humanity. A good story is not bound by the soil of its birth, nor by the hour of its telling; it leaps across the barriers of tongue and geography, striking the soul wherever it finds one ready to receive it.

The meaning is plain yet profound: stories are vessels of the human spirit. They outlast empires, kings, and the fragile bones of those who first told them. The Iliad of Homer still moves the hearts of men thousands of years after it was sung, though the language, the customs, and the gods of the Greeks have faded into dust. The story itself, however, continues to travel, striking the reader in Tokyo, in Cairo, in New York, as powerfully as it did in the ancient firesides of Ionia. It is as Nesser says: a good story can travel in time and borders, for it speaks not to the surface of culture, but to the core of humanity.

History shows us many examples. Consider Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe. Though written in 1852 in America, its words rippled far beyond its homeland. Abraham Lincoln himself, when meeting Stowe, is said to have called her “the little woman who wrote the book that started this great war.” The story, born of a specific time and place, struck the conscience of nations, fueling the struggle against slavery. Its power lay not in facts alone, but in the story—the suffering of individuals, the cry for justice, the undeniable humanity of the oppressed. That is the force Nesser describes: the ability of a story to leap beyond borders and compel action across ages.

The ancients, too, revered this truth. The parables of Jesus, though spoken in Galilee two millennia ago, still strike with force in lands He never walked. The fables of Aesop, born in the markets of Greece, continue to shape the minds of children and rulers alike. These tales did not remain in the hour of their creation, but traveled—riding ships, manuscripts, translations, and now even the light of screens—to find new ears and new hearts. The teller may be forgotten, the empire fallen, but the story remains immortal.

Yet there is also a lesson of responsibility. If a story can strike beyond borders and time, then the stories we tell must be chosen with care. A tale may inspire courage, but it may also plant hatred. The words we release into the world are seeds; they will sprout in lands unknown, in minds we will never meet. Therefore, one who tells a story wields a power greater than sword or crown: the power to shape unseen generations.

So, dear listener, what then is the lesson? It is this: tell your story with honesty, with courage, with the intent to awaken light and not darkness. Do not think your words are too small to matter. Even the humblest tale, told from the heart, may travel across centuries and ignite a flame in a soul far from your own. Live in such a way that your life itself becomes a story worth passing down—of kindness, of resilience, of truth.

In practical action, this means: read deeply of the great stories of humanity, so that your spirit may be shaped by wisdom older than yourself. Share the stories of your family, your people, your struggles, so that others may learn. Write, speak, and listen with reverence, knowing that every story carries within it the possibility of eternity. Let your tale not be of bitterness, but of hope; not of division, but of unity.

Thus, Hakan Nesser reminds us that a good story is not bound by the chains of time or the walls of nations. It is a living force, a messenger that never dies. And if you would live wisely, let your story be one that, when it travels beyond your life, strikes the hearts of those yet unborn and guides them toward a brighter path.