“Words are such uncertain things, they so often sound well but mean the opposite of what one thinks they do.”
“You do think you know about everything," said her husband.
I do," said Tuppence.”
“They are never really dead, these super criminals”
“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.”
“If you disperse energy in speech, it doesn't leave you too much over for action.”
“It is a great advantage to be intelligent and not to look it.”
“I can look after her all right, sir," said Tommy, at exactly the same minute as Tuppence said, "I can take care of myself.”
“Tommy, why did they put Maldon Surrey on the telegram?"
"Because Maldon is in Surrey, idiot.”
“لا حد يشعر بقيمة النعمة إلا عندما يفقدها، فنحن لا نشعر بقيمة التنفس إلا إذا أصابنا البرد”
“Twenty minutes’ work after breakfast every morning keeps the flag going to perfection. You have nothing to complain of, have you?” “Your”
“It'll be all right, Clay. Really." "So you say, but you have a persecution complex and delusions of grandeur." "That's true," Tom said, "but they're balanced out by poor self-image and ego menstruation at roughly six week intervals...”
“Indeed. But I was not thinking of his immortal soul, Matilda. I was thinking that history is chronicled by monks.”
“I can’t help blushing and looking down at my feet. “It was nothing.”
“It was literally everything to me.”
I look up, putting on my best version of Eight’s teasing smile. “In that case, I think I deserve more than a gross hot dog.”
Eight clasps his hands across his chest like I’ve wounded him. “You’re right! I’m a fool to think my life could be traded for a hot dog.” He grabs my hand and gets down on one knee, pressing his forehead to the back of my hand. “My savior, what can I ever do to repay you?”
“You live that long, things start happening to you. You get too impressed with yourself. Ends up, you think you’re God. Suddenly the little people, thirty, maybe forty years old, well, they don’t really matter anymore. You’ve seen whole societies rise and fall, and you start to feel you’re standing outside it all, and none of it really matters to you. And maybe you’ll start snuffing those little people, just like picking daisies, if they get under your feet.”
“Samuel Beckett once said, "Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness."
...On the other hand, he SAID it.”
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