There is no such thing as muddle – obscurity, yes – but muddle can exist only in a disorderly brain.
There is no hatred so great as that of a man who has been made to love a woman against his will.
There is no detective in England equal to a spinster lady of uncertain age with plenty of time on her hands.
There is at Christmas time a great deal of hypocrisy, honourable hypocrisy, hypocrisy undertaken pour le bon motif, c’est entendu, but nevertheless hypocrisy!
There is always a danger of accepting facts as proved which are really nothing of the kind.
There is a certain kind of meekness – of submission – brings out the worst in a man – whereas that same man, faced by spirit and determination, might be a different creature!
There are times when it is one’s duty to assert oneself.
There are three things that cannot be hurried – le bon Dieu, Nature, and old people.
There are questions that you don’t ask because you’re afraid of the answers to them.
There are criminals in high places sometimes.
There are all sorts of deep instincts in man of which he himself is unaware. The craving for blood – the demand for sacrifice!
The young people think the old people are fools; but the old people know the young people are fools!
