They can't find my house now because I keep it very quiet where I live. James Herriot More Quotes by James Herriot More Quotes From James Herriot And there was that letter from the Bramleys—that really made me feel good. You don’t find people like the Bramleys now; radio, television and the motorcar have carried the outside world into the most isolated places so that the simple people you used to meet on the lonely farms are rapidly becoming like people anywhere else. There are still a few left, of course—old folk who cling to the ways of their fathers and when I come across any of them I like to make some excuse to sit down and talk with them and listen to the old Yorkshire words and expressions which have almost disappeared. James Herriot lonely simple father If I had been a little dog I'd have gone leaping and gambolling around the room wagging my tail furiously. James Herriot gone dog tails I am never at my best in the early morning, especially a cold morning in the Yorkshire spring with a piercing March wind sweeping down from the fells, finding its way inside my clothing, nipping at my nose and ears. James Herriot spring morning wind If a farmer calls me to a sick animal, he couldn't care less if I were George Bernard Shaw. James Herriot care sick animal For years I used to bore my wife over lunch with stories about funny incidents. James Herriot lunch wife years It was Sunday morning (one a.m.), a not unusual time for some farmers, after a late Saturday night, to have a look round their stock and decide to send for the vet. James Herriot sunday animal morning I will write another book if I feel like it. James Herriot writing feels book I was helped by having a verbatim memory of what happened years ago, even if I can't remember what happened a couple of days ago. James Herriot couple memories years There was no last animal I treated. When young farm lads started to help me over the gate into a field or a pigpen, to make sure the old fellow wouldn't fall, I started to consider retiring. James Herriot animal retirement fall I became a connoisseur of that nasty thud a manuscript makes when it comes through the letter box. James Herriot boxes nasty letters