<i>Mon ami</i>,' said Poirot with dignity, 'when I commit a murder it will <i>not</i> be with the arrow poison of the South American Indians. - Agatha Christie
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Mon ami,' said Poirot with dignity, 'when I commit a murder it will not be with the arrow poison of the South American Indians.
Because this is just what a nightmare is. Walking about among people you know, looking in their faces- and suddenly the faces change- and it's not someone you know any longer- it's a stranger- a cruel stranger.
Men are made fools by the gleaming limbs of women, and, lo, in a minute they are become discolored carnelians. A trifle, a little, the likeness of a dream. And death comes as the end.
The popular view that a child forgets easily is not an accurate one. Many people go right through life in the grip of an idea which has been impressed on them in very tender years.