Quotes About Agatha Christie

I don't know, I'm sure," said Mrs. Burch. She had said that three times already. Her natural distrust of foreign-looking gentlemen with black moustaches, wearing large fur-lined coats was not to be easily overcome.

Sing a song of sixpence, A pocket full of rye. Four and twenty blackbirds, Baked in a pie. When the pie was opened The birds began to sing; Wasn't that a dainty dish, To set before the king. The king was in his counting house, Counting out his money; The queen was in the parlour, Eating bread and honey. The maid was in the garden, Hanging out the clothes, When down came a blackbird And pecked off her nose.

the intense power of stillness she possessed, which nevertheless conveyed the impression of a wild untamed spirit in an exquisitely civilized body

The weather was always the same—fine. No interesting variations. "The many-splendoured weather of an English day," she

It is difficult to know quite where to begin this story, but I have fixed my choice on a certain Wednesday at luncheon at the Vicarage.

You'd have been a holy terror if you'd taken to crime.

I regard St. Mary Mead," he said authoritatively, "as a stagnant pool." He looked at us, prepared for resentment at his statement, but somewhat, I think, to his chagrin, no one displayed annoyance. "That is really not a very good simile, dear Raymond," said Miss Marple briskly. "Nothing, I believe, is so full of life under the microscope as a drop of water from a stagnant pool.

The fat woman in purple was looking radiant…Undoubtedly the fat had certain compensations in life…a zest—a gusto—denied to those of more fashionable contours.

Ah, yes, I remember reading about that—shocking affair. I don't think I actually ever came across the fellow, though, of course, I knew of him. Toby Armstrong. Nice fellow. Everybody liked him. He had a very distinguished career. Got the V.C.

Some people, under a nervous and self-effacing manner, conceal a great deal of vanity and self-satisfaction.

The history of the marriage was short and painful. To put it bluntly, Mrs Ackroyd was a dipsomaniac. She succeeded in drinking herself into her grave four years after her marriage.

searched her bag for the ticket that would enable her to

Oh, yes. I've no doubt in my own mind that we have been invited here by a madman—probably a dangerous homicidal lunatic.

They went up the stairs. The next move was a little like a scene in a farce. Each one of the four stood with a hand on his or her bedroom door handle. Then, as though at a signal, each one stepped into the room and pulled the door shut. There were sounds of bolts and locks, of the moving of furniture. Four frightened people were barricaded in until morning.

You seem to have explanations for everything, Mr. Poirot." "That's his speciality,

You console me a little, but only a little,' said Poirot.

Colonel Race was not good at small talk and might indeed have posed as the model of a strong silent man so beloved by an earlier generation of novelists.

Many homicidal lunatics are very quiet unassuming people. Delightful fellows.' Blore said: 'I don't feel this one is going to be of that kind,

It's a classic, isn't it, sir?" said Hay. "Third Programme stuff. I don't listen to the Third Programme.

but it is one of the great consolations in nature that a man, however unattractive, will find that he is attractive—to some woman.

Ackroyd was sitting as I had left him in the armchair before the fire. His head had fallen sideways, and clearly visible, just below the collar of his coat, was a shining piece of twisted metalwork. Parker and I advanced till we stood over the recumbent figure. I heard the butler draw in his breath with a sharp hiss. "Stabbed from be'ind," he murmured. "'Orrible!

You might start a new religion yourself, with the creed: 'There is no one so clever as Hercule Poirot, Amen, D. C. Repeat ad lib.'!

Fey?" Mrs. Allerton put her head on one side as she considered her reply. "Well, it's a Scottish word, really. It means the kind of exalted happiness that comes before disaster. You know—it's too good to be true.

I have always believed that a love of nature was essentially a healthy sign in a man.