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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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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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I felt that the murderer was in the room. Sitting with us - listening. one of us
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'Here are my roses. Like ’em?' 'They’re beautiful,' said Laura politely. 'On the whole,' said Mr. Baldock, 'I prefer them to human beings. They don’t last as long for one thing.'
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The happiness of one man and one woman is the greatest thing in all the world.
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Take this Hercules - this hero! Hero, indeed! What was he but a large muscular creature of low intelligence and criminal tendencies!
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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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Children and one’s social inferiors never know when to say good-bye. One has to say it for them.
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An Englishman thinks first of his work - his job, he calls it - and then of his sport, and last - a good way last - of his wife.
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These little things are very significant.
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How true is the saying that man was forced to invent work in order to escape the strain of having to think.
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Words had become to him a means of obscuring facts - not of revealing them. He was an adept in the art of the useful phrase - that is to say the phrase that falls soothingly on the ear and is quite empty of meaning.
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God bless my soul, woman, the more personal you are the better! This is a story of human beings - not dummies! Be personal - be prejudiced - be catty - be anything you please! Write the thing your own way. We can always prune out the bits that are libellous afterwards!
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It would be difficult Bland thought, to forget Hercule Poirot, and this not entirely for complimentary reasons.
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There is always something about conscious tact that is very irritating.
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Without interest (hers not the type to wonder why!) but with perfect efficiently, Miss Lemon had fulfilled her task.
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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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Yes, he is intelligent. But we must be more intelligent. We must be so intelligent that he does not suspect us of being intelligent at all.
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Two is enough for a secret.
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'The English are very stupid,' said Poirot. 'They think that they can deceive anyone but that no one can deceive them.'
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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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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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Even the sensible and the competent have been given tongues by le bon Dieu - and they do not always employ their tongues wisely.
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It was a very British and utterly unconvincing performance.