Quotes from “Murder on the Orient Express” by
Hardman’s evidence was necessary in case some outsider should be suspected of the crime and be unable to prove an alibi.
“I like to see an angry Englishman,” said Poirot. “They are very amusing. The more emotional they feel the less command they have of language.”
Mon cher, vous êtes épatant
My dear, you're amazing.
to solve a case a man has only to lie back in his chair and think
Women are like that. When they are enraged they have great strength.
True to their nationality, the two English people were not chatty
breakfast isn’t always a chatty meal
Ce n’est rien. Je me suis trompé
It's all right. It's nothing. I made a mistake.
Que s’excuse s’accuse
What apology is there to accuse
not dans son caractère
not in character
Encore un peu, Madame.
A little more, ma'am.
Vous n’éprouvez pas d’émotion
You don't feel any emotion
Edward Henry Masterman
Valet of rachett
“What is this country anyway?” demanded Mrs. Hubbard tearfully.
On being told it was Yugo-Slavia she said:
“Oh! one of these Balkan things. What can you expect?”
On being told it was Yugo-Slavia she said:
“Oh! one of these Balkan things. What can you expect?”
True to their nationality, the two English people were not chatty
“Quite ready now, Mr. Ratchett.”
The elder man grunted an assent and passed out.
“Eh bien,” said Poirot. “What do you think of those two?”
“They are Americans,” said M. Bouc.
“Assuredly they are Americans. I meant what did you think of their personalities?”
“The young man seemed quite agreeable.”
“And the other?”
“To tell you the truth, my friend, I did not care for him. He produced on me an unpleasant impression. And you?”
Hercule Poirot was a moment before replying.
“When he passed me in the restaurant,” he said at last, “I had a curious impression. It was as though a wild animal—an animal savage, but savage! you understand—had passed me by.”
“And yet he looked altogether of the most respectable.”
“Précisément! The body—the cage—is everything of the most respectable—but through the bars, the wild animal looks out.”
“You are fanciful, mon vieux,” said M. Bouc.
The elder man grunted an assent and passed out.
“Eh bien,” said Poirot. “What do you think of those two?”
“They are Americans,” said M. Bouc.
“Assuredly they are Americans. I meant what did you think of their personalities?”
“The young man seemed quite agreeable.”
“And the other?”
“To tell you the truth, my friend, I did not care for him. He produced on me an unpleasant impression. And you?”
Hercule Poirot was a moment before replying.
“When he passed me in the restaurant,” he said at last, “I had a curious impression. It was as though a wild animal—an animal savage, but savage! you understand—had passed me by.”
“And yet he looked altogether of the most respectable.”
“Précisément! The body—the cage—is everything of the most respectable—but through the bars, the wild animal looks out.”
“You are fanciful, mon vieux,” said M. Bouc.
“If you will forgive me for being personal—I do not like your face, M.
“Ugly as sin, but she makes herself felt.
It was an ugliness of distinction—it fascinated rather than repelled.
makeshift affair, this,” he said
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