Quotes About Clues

I've watched every episode of Poirot and Midsomer Murders on TV. I never guess the ending and I can't wait for the moment when the detective gathers all the suspects in the room and, like a magician conjuring silk scarves out of the air, makes the whole thing make sense.

As far as I'm concerned, you can't beat a good whodunnit: the twists and turns, the clues and the red herrings and then, finally, the satisfaction of having everything explained to you in a way that makes you kick yourself because you hadn't seen it from the start.

I mean, that number on the wall for a start! What sort of person bludgeons someone to death and then wastes time painting cryptic messages for the police to find?

But Pünd took his time leaving the house. Fraser knew that he was not so much searching for clues as sensing the atmosphere – he had often heard him talk about the memory of crime, the supernatural echoes left behind by sadness and violent death. There was even a chapter in that book of his. 'Information and Intuition' or something like that.

Atticus Pünd had often said that there were no coincidences when you were investigating a crime. 'Everything in life has a pattern and a coincidence is simply the moment when that pattern becomes briefly visible.

you can't beat a good whodunnit: the twists and turns, the clues and the red herrings and then, finally, the satisfaction of having everything explained to you in a way that makes you kick yourself because you hadn't seen it from the start.

You're joking. Inspector Morse, Taggart, Lewis, Foyle's War, Endeavour, A Touch of Frost, Luther, The Inspector Lynley Mysteries, Cracker, Broadchurch and even bloody Maigret and Wallander

I can tell there's going to be a fight in a pub five minutes before anyone else.

Frank and Joe briefly told the officer on duty they might have a lead and dashed off to their car. They soon reached New Street, where most of the old-fashioned houses had "Rooms for Rent" signs in windows. Number 49 was a large run-down mansion, set far back from the street. Frank and Joe climbed the high steps and rang the bell. A neatly dressed, middle-aged woman opened the door.

Franklin W. Dixon

Franklin W. Dixon

balls. Those, and the stacked rifles, may have referred to the

I remembered a long time ago, Kit Williams hid a golden hare somewhere in Britain and wrote a book which was layered with clues about where the it was. This really fired my imagination, I read the book and it was way too cryptic for me to understand, but it seemed to fascinated people - it even got on the news.

You get to crack the code of the play. You get to really pick at it and see, 'What is the story that we're telling?' 'What are the clues in the text that I can find that will help inform what story we're telling?' It's almost like a detective mystery.

The true detective [...] starts in the center of the maze. Crimes make their way through to him. Never forget: you uncover your heart at the heart of it.

What is required of us is restraint and humility. We can put up barriers on bridges to make it more difficult for that momentary impulse to become permanent. We can instruct young people that the kind of reckless drinking that takes place at a fraternity party makes the task of reading others all but impossible. There are clues to making sense of a stranger.

We think we can easily see into the hearts of others based on the flimsiest clues. We jump at the chance to judge strangers. We would never do that to ourselves, of course. We are nuanced and complex and enigmatic. But the stranger is easy (p. 50).

We think we can easily see into the hearts of others based on the flimsiest clues. We jump at the chance to judge strangers. We would never do that to ourselves, of course. We are nuanced and complex and enigmatic. But the stranger is easy (p. 50)

Don't you read mystery novels?" "Not very often. Anyway, what does that mean, 'mystery novel'? What is a 'detective novel'?

I always interpret coincidences as little clues to our destiny

I needed to know more. Call it my detective's instinct. (Not for nothing has Abby nicknamed me Agatha Kristy!)

Deb Cooper was missing.

The detective thinks he is investigating a murder or a missing girl. But truly he is investigating something else altogether, something he cannot grasp hold of directly. Satisfaction will be rare. Uncertainty will be your natural state. Sureness will always elude you. The detective will always circle around what he wants, never seeing it whole. We do not go on despite this. We go on because of it.

There are no coincidences, only mysteries that haven't been solved, clues that haven't been placed. Most are blind to the language of the bird overhead, the leaf in our path, the phonographic record stuck in a groove, the unknown caller on the phone. They don't see the omens. They don't know the signs.