There is something very appealing about a room which one occupied as a child; it brings back one's childhood more vividly than anything else I know.

Most people, looking back at their childhood, see it as a misty country half-forgotten or only to be remembered through an evocative sound or scent, but some episodes of those short years remain clear and brightly coloured like a landscape seen through the wrong end of a telescope.

Poverty is easy to bear if it is only temporary, easier still if it is an entirely voluntary burden.

To have all my dear ones together under one roof - that is all I ask of life.

One need never be dull as long as one has friends to help, gardens to enjoy and books in the long winter evenings.

Prayer did not come easily to me for I always feel that prayer is a silent things, and opening of the heart. To ask for earthly benefits, to reel out a list of requirements and expect them to be supplied is not prayer. It is putting God in the same category as an intelligent grocer.

It is curious, isn't it, that things you know well never look dirty and dilapidated-other people's old furniture looks shabby and moth-eaten. “I would never have that horrible old couch in my room,” you say. But your own old couch is every bit as bad and you are not disgusted with its appearance; it is your friend, you see, and you remember it when it was new and smart. Friends that you have known for a long time and love very dearly never seem to grow old.