I looked at her. Sheila was my girl--the girl I wanted--and wanted for keeps. But it wasn't any use having illusions about her. Sheila was a liar and probably always would be a liar. It was her way of fighting for survival--the quick easy glib denial. It was a child's weapon--and she'd probably never got out of using it. If I wanted Sheila, I must accept her as she was--be at hand to prop up the weak places. We've all got our weak places. Mine were different from Sheila's, but they were there.

He laughs best who laughs at the end.

Of course I despise money when I haven't got any. It's the only dignified thing to do.

Juliet singles out Romeo. Desdemona claims Othello. They have no doubts, the young, no fear, no pride.

You'll be glad too, when the end comes.

My remarks are, as always, apt, sound, and to the point. (Hercule Poirot)

It's astonishing in this world how things don't turn out at all the way you expect them to.