Agatha Christie Quotes
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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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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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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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How convenient if you could ring up Harrods and say ‘Please send along two good murderers, will you?’
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'It makes me madder than a hornet to be disbelieved,' she explained.
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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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She broke off, unable to find words to frame her struggling thoughts. What life would be with Hori, she did not know. In spite of his gentleness, in spite of his love for her, he would remain in some respects incalculable and incomprehensible. They would share moments of great beauty and richness together - but what of their common daily life?
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'Tout de même,' said Poirot, 'since I cannot find anything, eh bien, then the logic falls out of the window.'
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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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Last time I had my hands on you, you felt like a bird - struggling to escape. You'll never escape now...
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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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They have, all of them, such wonderful good manners. Not taught good manners - the natural thing. I could never have believed till I came here that natural courtesy could be such a wonderful - such a positive thing.
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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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Children and one’s social inferiors never know when to say good-bye. One has to say it for them.
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There is always something about conscious tact that is very irritating.
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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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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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These little things are very significant.
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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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Two is enough for a secret.
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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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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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There is no such thing as muddle - obscurity, yes - but muddle can exist only in a disorderly brain.
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I have a certain experience of the way people tell lies.