It's Like All Those Quiet People, When

Good Advice Is Always Certain To Be Ignored, But That's No Reason Not To Give It.

She Didn't Give George Any Too Easy A Time When She Was Alive. She Was One Of Those Semi-invalids – I Believe She Had Really Something Wrong With Her, But Whatever It Was She Played It For All It Was Worth. She Was Capricious, Exacting, Unreasonable. She Complained From Morning To Night. George Was Expected To Wait On Her, Hand And Foot And Everything He Did Was Always Wrong And He Got Cursed For It. Most Men, I'm Fully Convinced, Would Have Hit Her With A Hatchet Long Ago.

Vous Eprouves Trop D'emotion, Hastings, It Affects Your Hands And Your Wits. Is That A Way To Fold A Coat? And Regard What You Have Done To My Pyjamas. If The Hairwash Breaks What Will Befall Them?' 'good Heavens, Poirot,' I Cried, 'this Is A Matter Of Life And Death. What Does It Matter What Happens To Our Clothes?' 'you Have No Sense Of Proportion Hastings. We Cannot Catch A Train Earlier Than The Time That It Leaves, And To Ruin One's Clothes Will Not Be The Least Helpful In Preventing A Murder.

I Often Wonder Why The Whole World Is So Prone To Generalise. Generalisations Are Seldom If Ever True And Are Usually Utterly Inaccurate.

An Ugly Voice Repels Me Where An Ugly Face Would Not.