Few of them were to be trusted within reach of a trowel and a pile of bricks.

His eyes were rolling in their sockets, and his face had taken on the colour and expression of a devout tomato. I could see he loved like a thousand bricks.

Rex Stout's narrative and dialogue could not be improved, and he passes the supreme test of being rereadable. I don't know how many times I have reread the Wolfe stories, but plenty. I know exactly what is coming and how it is all going to end, but it doesn't matter. That's writing.

He had the look of one who had drunk the cup of life and found a dead beetle at the bottom.

Flowers are happy things.

In every romance you have to budget for the occasional dust-up.

As for Gussie Finknottle, many an experienced undertaker would have been deceived by his appearance and started embalming on sight.