Quite absurd, because Caleb has absolutely no taste for fornication. He never has had. So lucky, being a clergyman. - Agatha Christie

Poirot said placidly, “One does not, you know, employ merely the muscles. I do not need to bend and measure the footprints and pick up the cigarette ends and examine the bent blades of grass. It is enough for me to sit back in my chair and think. It is this – ” he tapped his egg-shaped head – “this, that functions!

He was very much a man of moods, possibly owing to what is styled the artistic temperament. I have never seen, myself, why the possession of artistic ability should be supposed to excuse a man from a decent exercise of self-control.

The spoken word and the written - there is an astonishing gulf between them. There is a way of turning sentences that completely reverses the meaning.