Quotes from Alexander McCall Smith

She wouldn't disapprove of people who gave up philosophy or literary theory to do ordinary things. Maybe not, mused Maggie. If we eat pies, then we should never, not for one moment, look down on the making of them.

Everybody wanted to look after the world, but nobody wanted to give up anything they already had.

He is a good, kind man," said Mma Potokwane. "And such men are often too busy. I have noticed that round here too. That man I was talking to just then—one of our groundsmen—he is like that. He is so kind that everybody asks him to do everything. We had a bad-tempered man working here once and he had nothing to do because nobody, apart form myself, of course, had the courage to ask him to do anything.

We cannot let wicked people spoil our lives for us, can we?

wrong to think the less of another for what he or she was. There was no moral obligation to like others, nor necessarily to enthuse over them, but we did have to recognize their equal worth.

We French people sometimes appear rude but are not really intending to be rude. It is because…" He shrugged. "Perhaps it's something to do with our language. French may sound a bit arrogant sometimes. As if it's God talking, perhaps. You know how God talks. French suits him very well, I think." Annabelle laughed. "The English used to say that God spoke English. But we knew he spoke French all along.

and Mma Potokwane remained uncertain whether Mma Ramotswe was testate or intestate.

he had said that he had used a camera obscura device to paint his pictures. It had seemed such an unlikely theory, and yet Hockney's explanation made it seem so feasible. It was all to do with angles and perspective, and when you came to look at a Vermeer, there was a definite photographic feel to the artist's work.

Caution was always required when you looked under a bed—anybody's bed, even your own.

This girl, now in her early teens, had never had a photograph of herself. There was no record of her childhood, nothing which would remind her of what she used to be. There was nothing, no image, of which she could say: That is me. And all this meant that there was nobody who had ever wanted her picture; she had simply not been special enough.

the mokopa, which was long and black and very poisonous and which was well-known to hate humans because of some distant wrong in snake memory.

If your friend smells of fish you should not try to let it affect your friendship. Everybody, thought Ranald Braveheart Macpherson, knows that.

I think it's best for us to face up to our own mistakes," she

They paid the deposit immediately and appeared to be good tenants although they were reluctant to invite him over the threshold once they had moved in. "There is no need for you to come in," he had been told by a burly Russian who answered the door when he had called to see whether all was well. "There is nothing wrong. Everything functions. We are very happy. Goodbye.

But who doesn't have a lot of unread books? It's nice, though, just to know that they're there.

One did not walk around the town with one's birth certificate stuck on one's back; why then should clothes have their labels on the outside? It was a very vulgar display, she felt

The tree still celebrates its essential treeness through song, as nature will do whatever we impose on her. Birds still sing their ancient songs in the middle of a bustling city, with all its cacophony of man-made sounds. Dry leaves still rustle like dice even when growing against concrete or hewn stone. Out of a tiny crack in a pavement will crawl a perfectly formed insect, a creature of curves and protrusions amidst a linear world of man's engineering.

Every story has two sides. So far, we've only heard one. The stupid side."   LIFE

We should all busy ourselves in being who we are

Mma Ramotswe had been understanding. Men who sired children and then failed to accept responsibility for them were anathema to her, and she reserved particular disapproval for those who then completely disappeared. She

and the vestiges of that early feeling were still there, as she could not bring herself to punish the snails or caterpillars for their depredations. They were her fellow creatures, after all. They had not asked to be snails or caterpillars, and they needed to eat, as we all did.

She imagined herself lying in the vegetable tray, perhaps, while Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni leaned against the icebox. It would be a refreshing alternative to the heat.

a word, as often happens, can be like a musical worm in the mind and invite repetition. But

He was a man of the very broadest outlook, but he never believed in going anywhere. He had a very sensitive stomach, you know, and that is always a disincentive to travel. If you have a sensitive stomach, it is undoubtedly best to remain at home.