I have no pity for myself either. So let it be Veronal. But I wish Hercule Poirot had never retired from work and come here to grow vegetable marrows.

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

Everything that has existed, lingers in the Eternity.

Nobody knows what another person is thinking. They may imagine they do, but they are nearly always wrong.

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

Things never come when they are expected.

You can only really get under anybody's skin if you are married to them.