What's wrong with my proposition?" Poirot rose. "If you will forgive me for being personal-I do not like your face, M. Ratchett.

I married an archeologist because the older I grow, the more he appreciates me.

Fey...a Scotch word...It means the kind of exalted happiness that comes before disaster. You know--it's too good to be true.

There is no question of defence. I have always acted in accordance with the dictates of my conscience. I have nothing with which to reproach myself.

To every problem, there is a most simple solution.

The saddest thing in life and the hardest to live through, is the knowledge that there is someone you love very much whom you cannot save from suffering.

Is there ever any particular spot where one can put one's finger and say, "It all began that day, at such a time and such a place, with such an incident?