“People usually survive their illnesses, but the paper work eventually does them in. Filing a claim for insurance is terminal.”

I was trampled to death by a man who believed his luggage would be the first piece off. If he were an experienced traveler, he would know that the first piece of luggage belongs to no one. It’s just a dummy suitcase to give everyone hope.

My kids always perceived the bathroom as a place where you wait it out until all the groceries are unloaded from the car.

It is not until you become a mother that your judgment slowly turns to compassion and understanding.

A grandparent will help you with your buttons, your zippers, and your shoelaces and not be in any hurry for you to grow up.

Time. It hangs heavy for the bored, eludes the busy, flies by the for young, and runs out for the aged.

The odds of going to the store for a loaf of bread and coming out with only a loaf of bread are three billion to one.

There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt.

It is my theory you can’t get rid of fat. All you can do is move it around, like furniture.

No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed.

I worry about scientists discovering that lettuce has been fattening all along.

The hippopotamus is a vegetarian and looks like a wall. Lions who eat only red meat are sleek and slim. Are nutritionists on the wrong track?

I remember thinking how often we look, but never see … we listen, but never hear … we exist, but never feel. We take our relationships for granted. A house is only a place. It has no life of its own. It needs human voices, activity and laughter to come alive.

Have you any idea how many children it takes to turn off one light in the kitchen Three. It takes one to say What light and two more to say I didn’t turn it on.

Never go to a doctor whose office plants have died.

Seize the moment. Remember all those women on the ‘Titanic’ who waved off the dessert cart.

Don’t confuse fame with success. Madonna is one; Helen Keller is the other.

It was a strange combination to absorb – the everyday concerns of the town doctor stuck in the middle of a discussion of his early days in seventeenth-century London.

When I was born, I was effectively dead. Weird, I know. The doctors couldn’t get any reaction from me, so I had to be brought round, and although it seemed like I was okay, there were underlying problems.

I’m now convinced that I’m a doctor. I mean, if someone says they have a pain, I’m like, ‘Well, that’s your spleen.’

I don’t do facials – I don’t really enjoy people picking at my skin. I’d rather a dermatologist who’s a doctor for that do that.

I’m an armchair psychologist, I suppose, and I like to kind of sit around and guess and pretend I know what’s going on.

The scar on my eye is a result of the doctor’s sewing up my face. It was 450 stitches and plastic surgery.

I’m strongly for a patient Bill of Rights. Decisions ought to be made by doctors, not accountants.

Jesus needs neither books nor Doctors of Divinity in order to instruct souls; He, the Doctor of Doctors, He teaches without noise of words.