Cats are connoisseurs of comfort.
If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans.
A farmer once told me one of the greatest luxuries of his life was to wake up early only to go back to sleep again.
I seem to have spent a good part of my life - probably too much – in just standing and staring.
And the peace which I always found in the silence and emptiness of the moors filled me utterly
If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans. You’ve nothing to worry about there.
At times it seemed unfair that I should be paid for my work; for driving out in the early morning with the fields glittering under the first pale sunshine and the wisps of mist still hanging on the high tops.
I don't think he ever gave a thought to other people's opinions, which was just as well because they were often unkind
I wish people would realize that animals are totally dependent on us, helpless, like children, a trust that is put upon us.
She’s out, Jim! The bugger’s out!” Well this was great. Anybody who has driven a car with a hysterical cat hurtling around the interior will appreciate my situation.
When all t'world goes one road, I go t'other.
I could do terrible things to people who dump unwanted animals by the roadside.
I have felt cats rubbing their faces against mine and touching my cheek with claws carefully sheathed. These things, to me, are expressions of love.
Every day lasts a year. I never enjoy anything. And every morning when I wake up I dread having to face the world again.
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.
I became a connoisseur of that nasty thud a manuscript makes when it comes through the letter box.
I can't bear it, Mr. Herriot. He was like a Christian was that pig, just like a Christian.
Own. I am sure that is what the family remembered best about me because of the way the mother’s letter began. “Dear Vet with the bandaged finger …
I will write another book if I feel like it.
They can't find my house now because I keep it very quiet where I live.
I think it was the fact that I liked it so much that made the writing just come out of me automatically.
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.
For years I used to bore my wife over lunch with stories about funny incidents.
I love writing about my job because I loved it, and it was a particularly interesting one when I was a young man. It was like holidays with pay to me.
If a farmer calls me to a sick animal, he couldn't care less if I were George Bernard Shaw.
I hope to make people realize how totally helpless animals are, how dependent on us, trusting as a child must that we will be kind and take care of their needs.
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.
