You have a tendency, Hastings, to prefer the least likely. That, no doubt, is from reading too many detective stories.
One knows so little. When one knows more it is too late.
Our weapon is our knowledge. But remember, it may be a knowledge we may not know that we possess.
I often wonder why the whole world is so prone to generalise. Generalisations are seldom if ever true and are usually utterly inaccurate.
The heart of a woman who loves will forgive many blows.
Any coincidencce is worth noticing. You can throw it away later if it is only a coincidence.
Evil never goes unpunished, Monsieur. But the punishment is sometimes secret.
Everybody is very much alike, really. But fortunately, perhaps, they don’t realise it. – Miss Marple.
You should employ your little grey cells.
Your not reliable. You wouldn’t be at all a comfortable sort of person to live with.
People who can be very good can be very bad too.
Now I am old-fashioned. A woman, I consider, should be womanly. I have no patience with the modern neurotic girl who jazzes from morning to night, smokes like a chimney, and uses language which would make a billingsgate fishwoman blush!
To keep something wild is far more difficult than to preserve it.
There was something magical about an island – the mere word suggested fantasy. You lost touch with the world – an island was a world of its own. A world, perhaps, from which you might never return.
Curious thing, rooms. Tell you quite a lot about the people who live in them.
All around us are people, of all classes, of all nationalities, of all ages. For three days these people, these strangers to one another, are brought together. They sleep and eat under one roof, they cannot get away from each other. At the end of three days they part, they go their several ways, never, perhaps, to see each other again.
I think people more often kill those they love, than those they hate. Possibly because only the people you love can really make life unendurable to you.
Oh! money! All the troubles in the world can be put down to money – or the lack of it.
Death was for-the other people.
Speech, so a wise old Frenchman said to me once, is an invention of man’s to prevent him from thinking.