The tragedy of loss is not that we grieve, but that we cease to grieve, and then perhaps the dead are dead at last.

Murder is the unique crime, the only one for which we can never make reparation to the victim.

All fiction is largely autobiographical and much autobiography is, of course, fiction.

I love the idea of bringing order out of disorder which is what the mystery is about. I like the way in which it affirms the sanity of human life and exorcises irrational guilts.

A regime which combines perpetual surveillance with total indulgence is hardly conducive to healthy development.

Human kindness is like a defective tap, the first gush may be impressive but the stream soon dries up.

Old age makes caricatures of us all.