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

It is the brain, the little gray cells on which one must rely. One must seek the truth within--not without." ~ Poirot

I didn't want to work. It was as simple as that. I distrusted work, disliked it. I thought it was a very bad thing that the human race had unfortunately invented for itself.

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

It is a curious thought, but it is only when you see people looking ridiculous that you realize just how much you love them.

... there are many to whom money has no personal appeal, but who can be tempted by the power it confers.

At my time of life, one knows that the worst is usually true.