I will not look through keyholes,” I interrupted hotly. Poirot closed his eyes. “Very well, then. You will not look through keyholes. You will remain the English gentleman and someone will be killed.
I love autumn. It’s so much richer than spring.
Sometimes what you think is an end is only a beginning. And that wouldn’t do at all.
Is death the greatest evil that can happen to anyone?
It seems odd that as far as I know nobody has yet been murdered for having too perfect a character! And yet perfection is undoubtedly an irritating thing!
If one man does not make a move, the other must, and by permitting the adversary to make the attack one learns something about him.
Sometimes one sees things clearly years afterwards than one could possibly at the time.
With women, love always comes first.
They have a genius, young ladies, for getting into various kinds of trouble and difficulty.
I had the firm conviction that, if I went about looking for adventure, adventure would meet me halfway. It is a theory of mine that one always gets what one wants.
Nobody over fifty has got any sense.
To know when to use the truth is the essence of successful deception.
Poirot sighed. He said “The world is yours, the new heaven and the new earth. In your new world, my children, let there be freedom, and let there be pity. That is all I ask.
The thing people don’t seem to want anywhere nowadays... is anyone who’s got a bit of ordinary common sense... but I often think that that’s the only thing the world really needs-just a bit of common sense.
What are murderers like? Some of them, have been thoroughly nice chaps.
It is a profound belief of mine that if you can induce a person to talk to you for long enough, on any subject whatever! sooner or later they will give themselves away.
With a shock Iris realized suddenly that it was the first time in her life she had ever thought about Rosemary. Thought about her, that is, objectively, as a person. She had always accepted Rosemary without thinking about her. You didn’t think about your mother or your father or your sister or your aunt. They just existed, unquestioned, in those relationships. You didn’t think about them as people. You didn’t ask yourself, even, what they were like.
There is a proverb my grandmother used to repeat: Old sins have long shadows.
Archaeologists only look at what lies beneath their feet. The sky and the heavens don’t exist for them.
There’s no doubt about what the man’s profession has been. He’s a retired hairdresser. Look at that moustache of his.