Quotes from Agatha Christie

That child, said Sophia, is a bit of a problem.

There is always, of course, that terrible three weeks, or a month, which you have to get through when you are trying to get started on a book. There is no agony like it. You sit in a room, biting pencils, looking at a typewriter, walking about, or casting yourself down on a sofa, feeling you want to cry your head off . . . .

She's just the type—sexually unattractive, innately respectable. In my book, The Barren Vine—" Colonel Race interrupted tactfully:

The wickedness was never there - not in the sense it was supposed to be. No fantastic trafficking with the Devil, no black and evil splendour. Just parlour tricks done for money - and human life of no account. That's real wickedness. Nothing grand or big - just petty and contemptible.

Ah! Have I got to tell you thirty-six times, and then again thirty-six, that there is no need of physical effort? One needs only-to think.

If you would use your grey cells, and see the whole case clearly as I do, you too would perceive it, my friend.

It was like a nightmare. He had gone in a brisk, cheerful man. He came out like a drunken one—reeling a little on his feet, and with a queer dazed expression on his face.

it is often the case that one learns more about a person from their enemies than from their friends." "You suggest that their faults are more important than their virtues?" said Mr. Carey. His tone was dry and ironic. "Undoubtedly—when it comes to murder.

Nobody understands the art of living nowadays,' said Captain Wyatt. 'Catching trains, making appointments, fixing times for everything—all nonsense. Get up with the sun, I say, have your meals when you feel like it, and never tie yourself to a time or a date. I could teach people how to live if they would listen to me.

Ferguson was difficult. He sprawled insolently in a chair. "Grand to-do about this business!" he sneered. "What's it really matter? Lots of superfluous women in the world!

I hoped for the best,' said Miss Marple. 'One cannot go through life without attracting certain risks if they are necessary.

Miss Sutcliffe flashed a pair of mocking eyes as she spoke. She was sitting in a straight-backed chair, her grey hair becomingly arranged

On ülisuur viga lasta inimesel näha või kuulda valel ajal. Enamiku inimeste jaoks kaotab Shakespeare igasuguse võlu seetõttu, et nad koolis on kohustatud teda õppima; Shakespeare'i tuleb laval näha, mängituna nii, nagu autor seda kirjutades ette kujutas. Teatris oskate seda üsnagi noorelt hinnata, ammu enne, kui mõistate sõnade ja värsside ilu.

My limbs they are paralysed, my heart, it plays me the tricks, but my brain, Hastings, my brain it functions without impairment of any kind. It is still of the first excellence my brain.

Yes, I remember the one you mean. All a lot of hooey, though.

Evidence Against Him or Suspicious Circumstances: Pipe-cleaner.

You shall know all that I know, but I would prefer that you should come at the truth by your own efforts — not by my leading you by the hand.

The only thing I can't make up my mind about is whether it is an insult or a compliment to be considered a potential murderess. On the whole, I think it's a compliment.

Miss Gannett has all the characteristics of my sister Caroline, but she lacks that unerring aim in jumping to conclusions which lends a touch of greatness to Caroline's manoeuvres.

You are a philosopher, Mademoiselle." "That implies a detached attitude. I think my attitude is more selfish. I have learned to save myself useless emotion.

C'è in essi molta ipocrisia, a Natale, onorevole ipocrisia, senza dubbio, ipocrisia "pour le bon motif", ma sempre ipocrisia.

But I tell you this—if you try and saddle Fleetwood with this business you'll have me to deal with." "And who exactly are you?" asked Poirot sweetly. Mr. Ferguson got rather red.

Tell him we thank him and we will pray for him." Hercule Poirot said gently: "He needs your prayers." "Is he then an unhappy man?" Poirot said: "So unhappy that he has forgotten what happiness means. So unhappy that he does not know he is unhappy." The nun said softly: "Ah, a rich man..." Hercule Poirot said nothing—for he knew there was nothing to say...

Yes, yes, I know that. But why did you fall in love with him? What attracted you to him so much?" She crinkled her eyes as though trying to see through the eyes of a girl now dead.