Quotes About Mystery

I don't want to write about it at all. I want, you see, to think about it as little as possible. Hercule Poirot was dead - and with him died a good part of Arthur Hastings.

Hercule Poirot spread out his hands in his most foreign manner.

Well, of course, it was not any of my business but you get very queer glimpses of life sometimes, and you can't help speculating about them.

Ye Gods and Little Fishes," said Sir Henry, "can it be? George, it's my own particular, one and only four starred Pussy. The super Pussy of all old Pussies...

It is perfectly clear. Mr. Owen is one of us.…

Murder develops. Yes, like a photograph, isn't it?" "It's very much like photography really," said Dermot. "Quite a good comparison of yours.

Open your mouth and shut your eyes and see what the fairies will send you—

Romance can be a by-product of crime.

Only cats and witches walk in the dark.

Women are fiends-absolute fiends.

What does one say to a woman who has just killed her husband?

Nurse Leatheran has been giving me valuable information about the various members of the expedition. Incidentally I have learnt a good deal - about the victim. And the victim, mademoiselle, is very often the clue to the mystery.

There are crimes that cannot be brought home to their perpetrators. Instance the Rogerses'. Another instance, old Wargrave, who committed his murder strictly within the law.

I said, life will not pass her by. Strange and exciting events will surround her. You've only got to look at her to know it.

In fact,' said Poirot, 'she stabbed him in the dark, not realising that he was dead already, but somehow deduced that he had a watch in his pyjama pocket, took it out, put back the hands blindly and gave it the requisite dent.

They found he'd had a lethal dose of something that only a doctor could pronounce properly. As far as I remember it sounds vaguely like di-flor, hexagonal-ethylcarbenzol. That's not the right name. But that's roughly what it sounds like.

As the visitor left the office, Tuppence grabbed the violin and putting it in the cupboard turned the key in the lock. "If you must be Sherlock Holmes," she observed, "I'll get you a nice little syringe and a bottle labelled Cocaine, but for God's sake leave that violin alone.

It has just happened that I have found myself in the vicinity of murder rather more often than would seem normal.

Well, perhaps you're right, Miss Blacklock, but my own diagnosis would be a severe attack of Nosey Parkeritis …

Loyalty it is a pestilential thing in crime. Again and again it obscures the truth.

I congratulate you on having such a unique and beautiful problem.

Where there is murder, anything can happen.

Hemlock in the cocktails, wasn't it? Something of that kind.

Either her dream had taken a very odd turn or else - or else Mary had really rushed into the room and had said (incredible! fantastic!) that there was a body in the library.