The Seven Dials Mystery

To rush into explanations is always a sign of weakness.

fiction is founded on truth... unless things did happen, people couldn't think of them.

In my opinion half the people who spend their lives avoiding being run over by buses had much better be run over and put safely out of the way. They're no good.

It's a rotten job, but somebody's got to do it.

It’s odd, isn’t it, why farce so often seems to get mixed up with tragedy?

What I think is a different matter. Maybe I think some rather curious things—but until thinking's got you somewhere it's no use talking about it.

But nothing will suit him now but the best! He's got on wonderfully, and naturally he wants something to show for it, but many's the time I wonder where it will end.

I often find these self-made men are inconsiderate. Very possibly that is why they amass such large fortunes.

Bundle frowned. This business of the clocks was curious. She must get hold of Bill Eversleigh. He had been there, she knew. To think was to act with Bundle. She got up and went over to the writing desk. It was an inlaid affair with a lid that rolled back. Bundle sat down at it, pulled a sheet of notepaper towards her and wrote. Dear Bill,—

Come and have a cocktail. It's nearly lunch time.

I don't like anyone who comes and dies in my house on purpose to annoy me," said Lord Caterham obstinately.