We need never be ashamed of our tears.
We cannot be more sensitive to pleasure without being more sensitive to pain.
On me the tempest falls. It does not make me tremble. O holy Mother Earth, O air and sun, behold me. I am wronged.
Oh me, I have been struck a mortal blow right inside.
"Nothing", I said sadly. "They are two delightful women!" "And neither of them is for you?" finished Poirot. "Never mind. Console yourself, my friend. We may hunt together again, who knows?"
“It makes me madder than a hornet to be disbelieved,” she explained.
The tear rose in Miss Marple's eyes. Succeeding pity, there came anger - anger against a heartless killer. And then, displacing both these emotions, there came a surge of triumph - the triumph some specialist might feel who has successfully reconstructed an extinct animal from a fragment of jawbone and a couple of teeth.
Who is there who has not felt a sudden startled pang at reliving an old experience or feeling an old emotion?
We shall not hunt together again, my friend. Our first hunt was here — and our last … They were good days, Yes, they have been good days...