Quotes from Alexander McCall Smith

But there were many things that one did not really believe that one did not want to disbelieve, just in case they might be true – which they clearly were not, of course.

He took to wearing a Greek merchant navy captain's cap, and spending his mornings at the marina telling the staff what to do. "Sure thing, Captain Eddie," they replied. But they never did what he asked them to do, and Eddie never noticed. So everybody was content.

It had made her think of the moral flavour of music. Could music really have a moral quality in itself, or was it given this by the circumstances in which it was played - and by the reasons behind its performance. Music could be pressed into military service: a triumphal march would be good if played by the right side, and wrong if played by those in the wrong.

Life's goalposts, and hurdles too, are never in the right place, she told herself; and they have the unfortunate habit of shifting within seconds. One sees them, and then suddenly they are no longer there, where they should be, but somewhere altogether elsewhere.

Sometimes wickedness prevails.

Nihil humanum mihi alienum est

He smiled as he imagined the composite Jamie/Isabel, who would play the bassoon, read philosophy, interfere in other people's affairs rather too much, drive a green Swedish car and make legendary potatoes Dauphinoise.

By comparison with such lives, our days were inconsequential indeed, and yet even though our canvas was small, still we could paint a masterpiece—as long as we were content for it to be a miniature.

Innocency: what a wonderful word, and different, in some indefinable way, from innocence. The difference, she thought, lay in the poetry.

That's the trouble with teachers—they spend a lot of their time saying things. If they said fewer things—hardly anything—then people would listen to them. But they don't.

He evidently did not care that they were in full view of a cluster of dog-owners walking their dogs. He stopped and took her in his arms, kissing her passionately and urgently.

Life is a progression of partings," said the psychotherapist. "One by one, people—and things too—are taken from us. We lose them, they die, they are shown by us to be things of transitory association." "I'm sorry," said Ulf. "So am I," said Dr. Svensson.

Love and compassion are the only balm

There, I've thought it. I've thought the thing I knew I should think. And I feel better for it, because although it's harder to love, it's always better.

Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni had been uncertain what to say. He wondered whether he should ask Mma Ramotswe why she had not consulted him, but decided against it. If husbands started to question their wives' decisions, then where would it end, and what purpose would it serve? You could not undo what your wife had done.

You had to watch people—if you were not careful, all sorts of people would promote themselves well above their real station in life, causing nothing but confusion and uncertainty

Time, she felt, made quite enough claims on us, without our conniving in its relentless tyranny.

But being a parent hurt—that was part of the arrangement. It hurt and then suddenly it did not hurt any longer, and a loving and reasonable person emerged from the teenage shell, just as the colourful emperor moth emerges from the chrysalis of the mopane worm.

Waiting in the reception area, she had flicked through a news magazine that had been lying on the table for clients to read while waiting for their appointment. On the cover there had been a picture of a well-known politician, a man famous for his rudeness and aggression. She had looked at the eyes--the piercing, accusing eyes, and had seen only an impenetrable, defensive anger. Nothing--no forced smiles nor rehearsed protestation of concern, could cancel out the cold selfishness of those eyes.

So much had occurred, and so many of the things that had happened were bad. And yet there had been good things—acts of kindness, acts of loyalty and generosity of spirit; why did we forget these and remember only the bad?

It was far better to accept what had happened and make the best of it. It was also the case, he reflected, that Mma Ramotswe usually got her way. She was so nice about it, so disinclined to be insistent or pushy, but she usually got him to do what she wanted—and he was happy enough about that when all was said and done.

Mma Lentswe looked into her teacup. "Children say these things. They never admit they did anything. I was a teacher, Mma—I know that.

Things start badly—very badly—and then they change for the better and those who have nothing, or who are unhappy, or who live in fear, suddenly find that these things that were bad for them have gone." "It's like rain," said Mma Potokwane, who had not said much but had clearly been affected by the story. "The rains come and they wash everything away. The dryness, the thirst, the dust on your skin—these are washed away, Mma, all washed away.

It would be wonderful, she thought, to write a book which would help other people.