In the end, you have to choose whether or not to trust someone.

That's the way it goes. Some things happen and some things don't. This one is obviously just wasn't meant to be. Except deep down... I still believe it was.

... what would Poirot do? Poirot wouldn't flap around in a panic. He'd stay calm and use his little grey cells and recall some tiny, vital detail which would be the clue to everything.

It's just the way things are. And you can't dwell on what might have been. You have to look at what is.

she doesn’t really have a sense of humor. I think she’d like to have one—it’s just that she doesn’t quite understand what jokes are for.

I feel all agitated, like one of those snow globes you see resting peacefully on shop counters. I was perfectly happy being an ordinary, dull little Swiss village. But now Jack Harper’s come and shaken me up, and there are snowflakes all over the place, whirling around until I don’t know what I think anymore. And bits of glitter, too. Tiny bits of shiny, secret excitement.

I love all my characters. I love their weaknesses and flaws. I feel like they're all my best friends and I adore being with them.