A house in west London.

The best possible understanding of who they are and where they came from.

Yet one thing cannot be robbed of her futurity: my daughter, Cady. I hope I’ll live long enough that she has some memory of me. Words have a longevity I do not. I had thought I could leave her a series of letters — but what would they really say? ... There is perhaps only one thing to say to this infant, who is all future, overlapping briefly with me, whose life, barring the improbable, is all but past. That message is simple: When you come to one of the many moments in life when you must give an account of yourself, provide a ledger of what you have been, and done, and meant to the world, do not, I pray, discount that you filled a dying man’s days with a sated joy, a joy unknown to me in all my prior years, a joy that does not hunger for more and more, but rests, satisfied.

Good values and a lot of money.

Funny, loyal, genuine.

Looking back is not productive.

“Do you know what your problem is?” It was a dear friend of mine. They were referring to the fact that I’m impatient.

Ignorance and rudeness. Decency and a please and thank you cost nothing.

I’m slightly impatient.

John McCarthy, the journalist who was held captive for five years in Beirut. I’ve met him and he was so full of peace, humility and forgiveness – it was inspiring.