I’ve been gossiping a little. In shops – and waiting for buses. Old ladies are supposed to be inquisitive. Yes, one can pick up quite a lot of local news.
I didn’t get to that pudding in time. It had boiled dry. I think it’s really all right – just a little scorched perhaps. In case it tasted rather nasty I thought I would open a bottle of those raspberries I put up last summer. They seem to have a bit of mould on top but they say nowadays that that doesn’t matter. It’s really rather good for you – practically penicillin.
If you come to a Vicarage, you ought to be prepared to find a Vicar.
No, no, my dear boy, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s very easy to kill – so long as no one suspects you. And you see, the person in question is just the last person anyone would suspect!
Because people like living, don’t they? So do flies. Even if you’re old and in pain and can just crawl out in the sun. Julian says those people like living even more than young strong people do. It’s harder, he says, for them to die, the struggle’s greater. I like living myself – not just being happy and enjoying myself and having a good time. I mean living – waking up and feeling, all over me, that I’m there – ticking over.
You are a philosopher mademoiselle. This implies a detached attitude. I think my attitude is more selfish. I have learned to save myself from useless emotion.
Married a man who wasn’t much good. I’d say she never had much judgment when it came to men. Some women haven’t. They fall for anyone who tells them a hard-luck story. Always convinced that all the man needs is proper female understanding. That, once married to her, he’ll pull up his socks and make a go of life! But of course that type of man never does.
No, my death should take place in a blaze of excitement. I would live before I died.
We passed a very pleasant evening, though I made the slight mistake of taking Poirot to a crook play. There is one piece of advice I offer to all my readers. Never take a soldier to a military play, a sailor to a naval play, a Scotsman to a Scottish play, a detective to a thriller – and an actor to any play whatsoever! The shower of destructive criticism in each case is somewhat devastating.
Paeonies,” said Miss Marple as she rose from table, “are most unaccountable. Either they do – or they don’t do. But if they do establish themselves, they are with you for life, so to speak, and really most beautiful varieties nowadays.
We never know the whole man, though sometimes, in quick flashes, we know the true man.
I have always been rather good at what is called, I believe, creating an atmosphere.
You have the clear brain. Yes, one cannot go back over the past. One must accept things as they are. And sometimes, Madame, that is all one can do – accept the consequences of one’s past deeds.
He has not got ’flu,” said Hercule Poirot. “He has only a nasty cold. Everyone always thinks they have ’flu. It sounds more important. One gets more sympathy.
They say of me: ‘That is Hercule Poirot! – The great – the unique! – There was never anyone like him, there never will be!’ Eh bien – I am satisfied. I ask no more. I am modest.
Why did Juliet fall for Romeo? Well for one thing, with all due deference for Shakespeare, he happened to be the first man she had seen.
Conversation, my friend. Conversation and again conversation! All the murderers I have ever come across enjoyed talking. In my opinion the strong silent man seldom commits a crime – and if he does it is simple, violent, and perfectly obvious. But our clever subtle murderer – he is so pleased with himself that sooner or later he says something unfortunate and trips himself up.
Everyone must die! That is so, is it not? If it comes quickly from the sky – bouff – like that, it is as well as any other way. One is alive for a time – yes, and then one is dead. That is what happens in this world.
Once you’ve passed, say, fifty, comfort is the only thing that matters.
They turned me out of one place today because I had on a sleeveless dress,’ she said ruefully. ‘Apparently the Almighty doesn’t like my arms in spite of having made them.