“Death was for-the other people.”

“The world is full of good people who do bad things!”

“One knows so little. When one knows more it is too late.”

“To keep something wild is far more difficult than to preserve it.”

“Everyone likes talking about himself. - Hercule Poirot”

“Where do one's fears come from? Where do they shape themselves? Where do they hide before coming out into the open?”

“I was thinking, that when my time comes, I should be sorry if the only plea I had to offer was that of justice. Because it might mean that only justice would be meted out to me.”

“Use that fluff of yours you call a brain.”

“I don't go in for being sorry for people. For one thing it's insulting. One is only sorry for people if they are sorry for themselves. Self-pity is the biggest stumbling block in our world today.

“How can I go on living here and suspecting everybody ?”

“Authors were shy, unsociable creatures, atoning for their lack of social aptitude by inventing their own companions and conversations.”

“Everybody always knows something," said Adam, "even if it's something they don't know they know.”

“As life goes on it becomes tiring to keep up the character you invented for yourself, and so you relapse into individuality and become more like yourself everyday.”

“One is left with the horrible feeling now that war settles nothing; that to win a war is as disastrous as to lose one.”

“If you confront anyone who has lied with the truth, he will usually admit it - often out of sheer surprise. It is only necessary to guess right to produce your effect.”

“It is completely unimportant. That is why it is so interesting.”

“If you are to be Hercule Poirot, you must think of everything.”

“It's like all those quiet people, when they do lose their tempers they lose them with a vengeance.”

“Everyone is a potential murderer-in everyone there arises from time to time the wish to kill-though not the will to kill.”

“I suppose it is because nearly all children go to school nowadays and have things arranged for them that they seem so forlornly unable to produce their own ideas.”

“But no artist, I now realize, can be satisfied with art alone. There is a natural craving for recognition which cannot be gain-said.”

“Every murderer is probably somebody's old friend.”

“I do not argue with obstinate men. I act in spite of them.”

“Words, madmoiselle, are only the outer clothing of ideas.”