Death on the Nile

It often seems to me that's all detective work is, wiping out your false starts and beginning again." "Yes, it is very true, that. And it is just what some people will not do. They conceive a certain theory, and everything has to fit into that theory. If one little fact will not fit it, they throw it aside. But it is always the facts that will not fit in that are significant.

A man doesn't want to feel that a woman cares more for him than he cares for her. He doesn't want to feel owned, body and soul. It's that damned possessive attitude. This man is mine---he belongs to me! He wants to get away --- to get free. He wants to own his woman; he doesn't want her to own him.(Simon Boyle)

That is why most great love stories are tragedies.

Oh, I'm not afraid of death! What have I got to live for after all? I suppose you believe it's very wrong to kill a person who has injured you-even if they've taken away everything you had in the world?

Fey...a Scotch word...It means the kind of exalted happiness that comes before disaster. You know--it's too good to be true.

They conceive a certain theory, and everything has to fit into that theory. If one little fact will not fit it, they throw it aside. But it is always the facts that will not fit in that are significant.

Mademoiselle, I beseech you, do not do what you are doing.” “Leave dear Linnet alone, you mean!” “It is deeper than that. Do not open your heart to evil.” Her lips fell apart; a look of bewilderment came into her eyes. Poirot went on gravely: “Because—if you do—evil will come…Yes, very surely evil will come…It will enter in and make its home within you, and after a little while it will no longer be possible to drive it out.

There's no reason why women shouldn't behave like rational beings," Simon asserted stolidly. Poirot said drily: "Quite frequently they do. That is even more upsetting!

How true is the saying that man was forced to invent work in order to escape the strain of having to think.

In fact the marriage has been arranged by heaven and Hercule Poirot. All I have to do is to compound a felony.

Your not reliable. You wouldn't be at all a comfortable sort of person to live with.

It is not the past that matters,but the future

Motives for murder are sometimes very trivial, Madame.” “What are the most usual motives, Monsieur Poirot?” “Most frequent—money. That is to say, gain in its various ramifications. Then there is revenge—and love, and fear, and pure hate, and beneficence—” “Monsieur Poirot!” “Oh, yes, Madame. I have known of—shall we say A?—being removed by B solely in order to benefit C. Political murders often come under the same heading. Someone is considered to be harmful to civilization and is removed on that account. Such people forget that life and death are the affair of the good God.

Women, however charming, have this disadvantage: they distract the mind from food!

But after a while they stopped talking about her and discussed instead who was going to win the Grand National. For, as Mr Ferguson was saying at that minute in Luxor, it is not the past that matters but the future.

I suggest to you that, although you may have endeavored to gloss over the fact to yourself, you did deliberately set about taking your husband from your friend. I suggest that you felt strongly attracted to him at once. But I suggest that there was a moment when you hesitated, when you realized that there was a choice–that you could refrain or go on. I suggest that the initiative rested with you–not with Monsieur Doyle. … You had everything, Madame, that life can offer. Your friend’s life was bound up in one person. You knew that, but, though you hesitated, you did not hold your hand. You stretched it out and, like the rich man in the Bible, you took the poor man’s one ewe lamb.

Mademoiselle, I speak as a friend. Bury your dead! ... Give up the past! Turn to the future! What is done is done. Bitterness will not undo it.' 'I'm sure that would suit dear Linnet admirably.' Poirot made a gesture. 'I am not thinking of her at this moment! I am thinking of you. You have suffered - yes - but what you are doing now will only prolong the suffering.

All three wore the air of superiority assumed by people who are already in a place when studying new arrivals.

Yes, I like that—loyalty, I mean. It’s out of fashion nowadays. She’s an odd character, that girl—proud, reserved, stubborn, and terribly warm-hearted underneath, I fancy.

I aften hadde M. Blondin benyttet seg tre ganger av sitt kongelige privilegium - først var det en hertuginne, så en berømt veddeløpslord, og endelig var det en liten, komisk utseende mann med overveldende sorte mustasjer. En tilfeldig tilskuer ville knapt tenke seg at Chez Ma Tante kunne være synderlig beæret ved hans besøk.

Take the Pyramids. Great blocks of useless masonry, put up to minister to the egoism of a despotic bloated king. Think of the sweated masses who toiled to build them and died doing it. It makes me sick to think of the suffering and torture they represent." Mrs. Allerton said cheerfully: "You’d rather have no Pyramids, no Parthenon, no beautiful tombs or temples—just the solid satisfaction of knowing that people got three meals a day and died in their beds." The young man directed his scowl in her direction. "I think human beings matter more than stones.

It’s so dreadfully easy...killing people… And you begin to feel that it doesn’t matter…That it’s only you that matters! It’s dangerous...that.

For, as Mr. Ferguson was saying at that minute in Luxor, it is not the past that matters but the future.

When I went home as a child with my mother, to South Carolina, my grandfather taught me to shoot. He was the old-fashioned kind that believes in shooting—especially where honour is concerned. My father, too, he fought several duels as a young man. He was a good swordsman. He killed a man once. That was over a woman. So you see, Monsieur Poirot”—she met his eyes squarely—“I’ve hot blood in

Mademoiselle, I beseech you, do not do what you are doing.” “Leave dear Linnet alone, you mean!” “It is deeper than that. Do not open your heart to evil.” Her lips fell apart; a look of bewilderment came into her eyes. Poirot went on gravely: “Because—if you do—evil will come…Yes, very surely evil will come…It will enter in and make its home within you, and after a little while it will no longer be possible to drive it out.” Jacqueline stared at him. Her glance seemed to waver, to flicker uncertainly. She said: “I—don’t know—” Then she cried out definitely, “You can’t stop me.” “No,” said Hercule Poirot. “I cannot stop you.” His voice was sad.

suppose you believe it’s very wrong to kill a person who has injured you—even if they’ve taken away everything you had in the world?” Poirot said steadily: “Yes, Mademoiselle. I believe it is the unforgivable offence—to kill.

But then, how do you know?" "Because I am Hercule Poirot I do not need to be told.

But to succeed in life every detail should be arranged well beforehand.

Poirot realized with a momentary flicker of amusement that he had not made himself popular by his critical attitude. Linnet was used to unqualified admiration of all she was or did. Hercule Poirot had sinned noticeably against this creed. Mrs Allerton, joining him,