Rating: 5 out of 5

I read this book as a teenager, as had my Mum before me - it was her recommendation as one of her favourite stories from her teenage years. When I was looking for a story to read to Mum, having just finished reading her a book of poetry, I thought of this book. It’s taken a few visits to read, and today we had to race a little to get to the end before I left her.

With the exception of the first handful of pages the story unfolds in a series of letters from the orphan Jerusha Abbott to her benefactor, Mr John “Daddy-Long-Legs” Smith as Jerusha settles into college. The style of writing evolves as her education evolves and through these letters we get to know a whole heap of her friends.

Having read this before, even if was 20+ years ago, I knew what to expect and could remember enough of the story to know where we were going. However, after having read all of the letters out to Mum, the last two were read with a few interspersed sobs which caught me unawares.

A wonderful, simple, innocent read!

Highlighted passages:

It isn’t the big troubles in life that require character. Anybody can rise to a crisis and face a crushing tragedy with courage, but to meet the petty hazards of the day with a laugh-I really think that requires SPIRIT.

I think that the most necessary quality for any person to have is imagination. It makes people able to put themselves in other people’s places. It makes them kind and sympathetic and understanding. It ought to be cultivated in children.

The world is full of happiness, and plenty to go round, if you are only willing to take the kind that comes your way.

It isn’t the great big pleasures that count the most; it’s making a great deal out of the little ones-I’ve discovered the true secret of happiness, Daddy, and that is to live in the now. Not to be for ever regretting the past, or anticipating the future; but to get the most that you can out of this very instant.

I’m going to enjoy every second, and I’m going to KNOW I’m enjoying it while I’m enjoying it. Most people don’t live; they just race. They are trying to reach some goal far away on the horizon, and in the heat of the going they get so breathless and panting that they lose all sight of the beautiful, tranquil country they are passing through; and then the first thing they know, they are old and worn out, and it doesn’t make any difference whether they’ve reached the goal or not. I’ve decided to sit down by the way and pile up a lot of little happinesses,

I hate the moonlight because it’s beautiful and he isn’t here to see it with me.

Originally posted to my Goodreads account