At the small table, sitting very upright, was one of the ugliest old ladies he had ever seen. It was an ugliness of distinction - it fascinated rather than repelled.

You've a pretty good nerve," said Ratchett. "Will twenty thousand dollars tempt you?"

It will not."

If you're holding out for more, you won't get it. I know what a thing's worth to me."

I, also M. Ratchett."

What's wrong with my proposition?"

Poirot rose. "If you will forgive me for being personal - I do not like your face, M. Ratchett," he said.

I am all that there is of the most real.

Ah, but life is like that! It does not permit you to arrange and order it as you will. It will not permit you to escape emotion, to live by the intellect and by reason! You cannot say, 'I will feel so much and no more.' Life, Mr. Welman, whatever else it is, is not reasonable. [Hercule Poirot]

And yet," said Poirot, "suppose an accident-"
"Ah, no, my friend-"
"From your point of view it would be regrettable, I agree. But nevertheless let us just for one moment suppose it. Then, perhaps, all these here are linked together - by death.

There was only one thing about his own appearance which really pleased Hercule Poirot, and that was the profusion of his moustaches, and the way they responded to grooming and treatment and trimming. They were magnificent. He knew of nobody else who had any moustache half as good.