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I can imagine anything! That's the trouble with me. I can imagine things now - this minute. I could even make them sound all right, but of course none of them would be true.
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Who is there who has not felt a sudden startled pang at reliving an old experience or feeling an old emotion?
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I have, perhaps, too professional a point of view where deaths are concerned. They are divided, in my mind, into two classes - deaths which are my affair and deaths which are not my affair - and though the latter class is infinitely more numerous - nevertheless whenever I come in contact with death I am like the dog who lifts his head and sniffs the scent.
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The body - the cage - is everything of the most respectable - but through the bars, the wild animal looks out.
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'That’s all very well - they’re not educated, poor creatures.' 'No, and a good thing too. Education has devitalised the white races. Look at America - goes in for an orgy of culture. Simply disgusting.'
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Crime is terribly revealing. Try and vary your methods as you will, your tastes, your habits, your attitude of mind, and your soul is revealed by your actions.
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Never mind. I knew - that was the great thing.
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Yes, a private investigator like my Wilbraham Rice. The public have taken very strongly to Wilbraham Rice. He bites his nails and eats a lot of bananas. I don’t know why I made him bite his nails to start with - it’s really rather disgusting - but there it is. He started by biting his nails, and now he has to do it in every single book. So monotonous.
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I do not argue with obstinate men. I act in spite of them.
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It was a very British and utterly unconvincing performance.
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Mrs. Oliver in her own opinion was famous for her intuition. One intuition succeeded another with remarkable rapidity, and Mrs. Oliver always claimed the right to justify the particular intuition which turned out to be right!
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And if you cast down an idol, there's nothing left.
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I was wrong about that young man of yours. A man when he is making up to anybody can be cordial and gallant and full of little attentions and altogether charming. But when a man is really in love he can't help looking like a sheep. Now, whenever that young man looked at you he looked like a sheep. I take back all I said this morning. It is genuine.
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Courage is the resolution to face the unforeseen.
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What beats me - it always does - is how a man can be so clever and yet be such a perfect fool.
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'Is he then an unhappy man?' Poirot said: 'So unhappy that he has forgotten what happiness means. So unhappy that he does not know he is unhappy.' The nun said softly: 'Ah, a rich man…'
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Children and one’s social inferiors never know when to say good-bye. One has to say it for them.
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She shrugged her shoulders slightly. 'What can one do?' 'You are a philosopher, Mademoiselle.'
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'Do you always travel first-class, Mr. Hardman?' 'Yes, sir. The firm pays my travelling expenses.' He winked.
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I don't pretend to be an author or to know anything about writing. I'm doing this simply because Dr Reilly asked me to, and somehow when Dr Reilly asks you to do a thing you don't like to refuse.
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'Nothing', I said sadly. 'They are two delightful women!' 'And neither of them is for you?' finished Poirot. 'Never mind. Console yourself, my friend. We may hunt together again, who knows?'
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I’m used to that. It often seems to me that’s all detective work is - wiping out your false starts and beginning again.
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'Me, I am convinced it is the truth,' said M. Bouc, becoming more and more enamoured of his theory.
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I like to inquire into everything. Hercule Poirot is a good dog. The good dog follows the scent, and if, regrettably, there is no scent to follow, he noses around - seeking always something that is not very nice.