One Is Alone When The Last One

I Have No Pity For Myself Either. So Let It Be Veronal. But I Wish Hercule Poirot Had Never Retired From Work And Come Here To Grow Vegetable Marrows.

Evil Is Not Any Superhuman, But It Is Human.

Men Don't Understand How Their Mannerisms Can Get On Women's Nerves So That You Feel You Just Have To Snap.

He Was Very Much A Man Of Moods, Possibly Owing To What Is Styled The Artistic Temperment. 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.

I'm Afraid Of Death... Yes, But That Doesn't Stop Death Coming.