Quotes from Agatha Christie

For somewhere," said Poirot to himself, indulging in an absolute riot of mixed metaphors, "there is in the hay a needle, and among the sleeping dogs there is one on whom I shall put my foot, and by shooting the arrows into the air, one will come down and hit a glass house!

The spoken word and the written - there is an astonishing gulf between them. There is a way of turning sentences that completely reverses the meaning.

Try and vary your methods as you will, your tastes, your habits, your attitude of mind, and your soul is revealed by your actions.

Maybe it is because I am an old man, but I find, M. Poirot, that there is something about the defenselessness of youth that moves me to tears. Youth is so vulnerable. It is so ruthless - so sure. So generous and so demanding.

The illusion that freedom is the prerogative of one's own particular race is fairly widespread. Dr Gerard was wiser. He knew that no race, no country and no individual could be described as free. But he also knew that there were different degrees of bondage.

Nowadays, no one believes in evil. It is considered, at most, a mere negation of good. Evil, people say, is done by those who know no better - who are undeveloped - who are to be pitied rather than blamed. But, M. Poirot, evil is real! It is a fact! I believe in Evil as I believe in Good. It exists! It is powerful! It walks the earth!' He stopped. His breath was coming fast. He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and looked suddenly apologetic. 'I'm sorry. I got carried away.

One gets infected, it is true, by the style of a work that one has been reading.

There is no such thing as a really calm sea. Always, always, there is motion.

The expected has happened, and when the expected happens, it always causes me emotion.

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.

When the fact doesn't meet the theory then let go the theory.

Truth is seldom romantic.

It would mean a good film, the story that you have recounted to me there - but it bears no sort of resemblance to everyday life.' 'I admit that I haven't gone into all the details, but-' 'You have gone farther - you have ignored them magnificently.

I just woke up feeling happy this morning. You know those days when everything in the world seems right.

Yes, yes-you will give him the earth-because you love him. Love him too much for safety or for happiness. But you cannot give to people what they are incapable of receiving.

There was only one thing about his own appearance which really pleased Hercule Poirot, and that was the profusion of his moustaches, and the way they responded to grooming and treatment and trimming. They were magnificent. He knew of nobody else who had any moustache half as good.

Lie is more worth living, more full of interest when you are likely to lose it. It shouldn't be, perhaps, but it is. When you're young and strong and healthy, and life stretches ahead of you, living isn't really important at all. It's young people who commit suicide easily, out of despair from love, sometimes from sheer anxiety and worry. But old people know how valuable life is and how interesting. - Jane Marple

You want beauty," said Hercule Poirot. "Beauty at any price. For me, it is truth I want. Always truth.

If only-if only, Hastings, you would part your hair in the middle instead of at the side! What a difference it would make to the symmetry of your appearance. And your moustache. If you must have a moustache, let it be a real moustache-a thing of beauty such as mine.

What can I say at seventy-five? "Thank God for my good life,and for all the love that has been given to me.

Death, mademoiselle, unfortunately creates a prejudice. A prejudice in favour of the deceased... There is a great charity always to the dead.

Was bad language used?" asked Colonel Melchett. "It depends on what you call bad language." "Could you understand it?" I asked. "Of course I could understand it." "Then it couldn't have been bad language," I said. Mrs. Price Ridley looked at me suspiciously. "A refined lady," I explained, "is naturally unacquainted with bad language.

The dog hunts rabbits. Hercule Poirot hunts murderers.

My friend, in working upon a case, one does not take into account only the things that are "mentioned". There is no reason to mention many things which may be important. Equally, there is often an excellent reason for not mentioning them.