Five Little Pigs (Hercule Poirot, #25)

by Agatha Christie

She didn’t tell lies—kind lies. If a thing was going to hurt she always told you so. Dentists, or thorns in your finger—all that sort of thing. Truth was a—a natural impulse to her. I wasn’t, I don’t think, especially fond of her—but I trusted her.

There is always a moment where a girl feels unsure of herself—neither child nor woman. At one minute Angela would be sensible and mature—quite grown up, in fact—but a minute later she would relapse into being a hoydenish child—playing mischievous tricks and being rude and losing her temper. Girls, you know, feel difficult at that age—they are terribly sensitive. Everything that is said to them they resent. They are annoyed at being treated like a child and then they suddenly feel shy at being treated like adults.

Actually, there’s a Britney Spears song about it 😂

It is always better to face the truth. It is no use evading unhappiness by tampering with facts.

It was the kind of thing I knew but hadn’t thought about and certainly had never dreamed of putting into words.’

One must have the courage to face reality. Without that courage, life is meaningless. The people who do us most harm are the people who shield us from reality.

‘Why are you sorry for me?’ ‘Because, my child, you have so much to learn.’ ‘What have I got to learn?’ ‘All the grown-up emotions—pity, sympathy, understanding. The only things you know—have ever known—are love and hate.’

Agatha Christie psicoanalista