Hercule Poirot: I am an imbecile. I see only half of the picture. Miss Lemon: I don’t even see that.
If you are to be Hercule Poirot, you must think of everything.
I live now on borrowed time, waiting in the anteroom for the summons that will inevitably come. And then – I go on to the next thing, whatever it is. One doesn’t, luckily, have to bother about that.
Most successes are unhappy. That’s why they are successes – they have to reassure themselves about themselves by achieving something that the world will notice.
Curious things, habits. People themselves never knew they had them.
Every murderer is probably somebody’s old friend.
It’s so much nicer to be a secret and delightful sin to anybody than to be a feather in his cap.
At the small table, sitting very upright, was one of the ugliest old ladies he had ever seen. It was an ugliness of distinction – it fascinated rather than repelled.
I am not one to rely upon the expert procedure. It is the psychology I seek, not the fingerprint or the cigarette ash.
But I know human nature, my friend, and I tell you that, suddenly confronted with the possibility of being tried for murder, the most innocent person will lose his head and do the most absurd things.
I believe, Messieurs, in loyalty – to one’s friends and one’s family and one’s caste.
A man when he is making up to anybody can be cordial and gallant and full of little attentions and altogether charming. But when a man is really in love he can’t help looking like a sheep.
One of the saddest things in life, is the things one remembers.
There hung about her the restrained energy of a whiplash.
They tried to be too clever – and that was their undoing.
When you find that people are not telling you the truth – look out!
Real evidence is usually vague and unsatisfactory. It has to be examined – sifted. But here the whole thing is cut and dried. No, my friend, this evidence has been very cleverly manufactured – so cleverly that it has defeated its own ends.
No, my friend, I am not drunk. I have just been to the dentist, and need not return for another six months! Is it not the most beautiful thought? – Poirot.
Words are such uncertain things, they so often sound well but mean the opposite of what one thinks they do.
One doesn’t recognize the really important moments in one’s life until it’s too late.