The Labors of Hercules (Hercule Poirot, #27)

by Agatha Christie

It’s not a man’s working hours that are important—it’s his leisure hours. That’s the mistake we all make.

Words had become to him a means of obscuring facts—not of revealing them. He was an adept in the art of the useful phrase—that is to say the phrase that falls soothingly on the ear and is quite empty of meaning.

“So unhappy that he has forgotten what happiness means. So unhappy that he does not know he is unhappy.” The nun said softly: “Ah, a rich man. . . .”