Agatha Christie Quotes - Page 2

One little Indian left all alone, he went out and hanged himself and then there were none.

But seriously Poirot, what a hobby! Compare that to-" his voice sank to an appreciative purr-"an easy chair in front of a wood fire in a long low room lined with books-must be a long room-not a square one. Books all round one. A glass of port-and a book open in your hand. Time rolls back as you read.

To know when to use the truth is the essence of successful deception

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.

I often wonder why the whole world is so prone to generalise. Generalisations are seldom if ever true and are usually utterly inaccurate.

There! Now we're friends!" declared the minx. "Say you're sorry about my sister -"
"I am desolated!"
"That's a good boy!

Oh! Do not excite yourself. Shall I say that he interested me because he was trying to grow a mustache and as yet the result is poor." Poirot stroked his own magnificent mustache tenderly. "It is an art," he murmured, "the growing of the mustache! I have sympathy for all who attempt it.

Bottled, was he?" Said Colonel Bantry, with an Englishman's sympathy for alcoholic excess. "Oh, well, can't judge a fellow by what he does when he's drunk? When I was at Cambridge, I remember I put a certain utensil - well - well, nevermind.

Her account is that she tried to get out of having to read it, but it was no use."
"And that's fair enough," sighed Craddock. "If anyone is really determined to lend you a book, you never can get out of it!

You are, I think, a little bit contemptuous of the way I prosecute my inquiries," he said with a twinkle.

In fact,' said Poirot, 'she stabbed him in the dark, not realising that he was dead already, but somehow deduced that he had a watch in his pyjama pocket, took it out, put back the hands blindly and gave it the requisite dent.

How fast you go. You arrive at a conclusion much sooner than I would permit myself to do.

It's all very well to talk like that,” said Mr. Rafiel. “We, you say? What do you think I can do about it? I can't even walk without help. How can you and I set about preventing a murder? You're about a hundred and I'm a broken-up old crock.

A statesman in these days has a difficult task. He has to pursue the policy he deems advantageous to his country, but he has at the same time to recognize the force of popular feeling. Popular feeling is very often sentimental, muddleheaded, and eminently unsound, but it cannot be disregarded for all that.

The things young women read nowadays and profess to enjoy positively frighten me.

I feel that if I could sweep all this away . . . all the buildings and the sects and the fierce squabbling churches . . . that I might see Christ's quiet figure riding into Jerusalem on a donkey-and believe in him.

Liking is more important than loving. It lasts. I want what is between us to last, Luke. I don't want us just to love each other and marry and get tired of each other and then want to marry some one else."

"Oh! my dear Love, I know. You want reality. So do I. What's between us will last for ever because it's founded on reality.

An archaeologist is the best husband a woman can have. The older she gets, the more interested he is in her.

Women can accept the fact that a man is a rotter, a swindler, a drug taker, a confirmed liar, and a general swine, without batting an eyelash, and without its impairing their affection for the brute in the least. Women are wonderful realists.

I'm going to marry him. And if he thinks he can get divorced and married every two or three years in the approved Hollywood fashion, well, he never made a bigger mistake in his life. He's going to marry and stick to me.