Agatha Christie Quotes

Men are foolish, are they not, Mademoiselle? To eat, to drink, to breathe the good air, it is a very pleasant thing, Mademoiselle. One is foolish to leave all that simply because one has no money — or because the heart aches. L´amour, it causes many fatalities, does it not?

“You have been to the Riviera before, Georges?” said Poirot to his valet the following morning. George was an intensely English, rather wooden-faced individual. “Yes, sir. I was here two years ago when I was in the service of Lord Edward Frampton.” “And to-day,” murmured his master, “you are here with Hercule Poirot. How one mounts in the world!”

“Eh bien, Mademoiselle, all through my life I have observed one thing — 'All one wants one gets!' Who knows?" His face screwed itself up comically. "You may get more than you bargain for."

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.

Understand this, I mean to arrive at the truth. The truth, however ugly in itself, is always curious and beautiful to seekers after it.

"Nothing", I said sadly. "They are two delightful women!" "And neither of them is for you?" finished Poirot. "Never mind. Console yourself, my friend. We may hunt together again, who knows?"

I am not keeping back facts. Every fact that I know is in your possession. You can draw your own deductions from them.

For Poirot, uttering a hoarse and inarticulate cry, again annihilated his masterpiece of cards and putting his hands over his eyes swayed backwards and forwards, apparently suffering the keenest agony. “Good heavens Poirot!” I cried. “What is the matter? Are you taken ill?” “No, no,” he gasped. “It is — it is — that I have an idea!”

Every murderer is probably somebody’s old friend.

“This affair must all be unravelled from within.” He tapped his forehead. “These little grey cells. It is ‘up to them’ — as you say over here.”

See you, one should not ask for outside proof — no, reason should be enough. But the flesh is weak, it is consolation to find that one is on the right track.

Two is enough for a secret.

Yes, he is intelligent. But we must be more intelligent. We must be so intelligent that he does not suspect us of being intelligent at all.

Now there is no murder without a motive.

“Tcha! Tcha!” cried Poirot irritably. “You argue like a child.”