Curiosity, or what she preferred herself to call ‘taking an interest' in other people's affairs, was undoubtedly one of Miss Marple's characteristics.

A little difficult to know where you were with Elinor. She didn't reveal much of what she thought and felt about things. He liked that about her. He hated people who reeled off their thoughts and feelings to you, who took it for granted that you wanted to know all their mechanism. Reserve was always more interesting.

I did not deceive you, mon ami. At most, I permitted you to deceive yourself.

He was at the stage of a meal when one becomes philosophic.

Now there has been a rearrangement of the kaleidoscope. From a mild discussion of probable wedding presents, we had been jerked into the midst of tragedy. Revolving.

A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity. It dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path.

His poems have no capital letters in them, which is, I believe, the essence of modernity.