The Human Face Is, After All, Nothing

Poirot Said Placidly, “one Does Not, You Know, Employ Merely The Muscles. I Do Not Need To Bend And Measure The Footprints And Pick Up The Cigarette Ends And Examine The Bent Blades Of Grass. It Is Enough For Me To Sit Back In My Chair And Think. It Is This – ” He Tapped His Egg-shaped Head – “this, That Functions!

There Is Nothing More Thrilling In This World, I Think, Than Having A Child That Is Yours, And Yet Is Mysteriously A Stranger.

I Am Not Mad. I Am Eccentric Perhaps--at Least Certain People Say So; But As Regards My Profession. I Am Very Much As One Says, 'all There.

Words, Mademoiselle, Are Only The Outer Clothing Of Ideas.

Sometimes I Feel Sure He Is As Mad As A Hatter And Then, Just As He Is At His Maddest, I Find There Is A Method In His Madness.