The Body in the Library (Miss Marple, #3)

by Agatha Christie

Nine o’clock to nine-thirty was the recognized time for the village to make friendly calls to neighbours.

What I feel is that if one has got to have a murder actually happening in one’s house, one might as well enjoy it, if you know what I mean.

Activity was always to Inspector Slack’s taste. To rush off in a car, to silence rudely those people who were anxious to tell him things, to cut short conversations on the plea of urgent necessity. All this was the breath of life to Slack.

the fascinating and age-long problem of woman’s adornments.

“An alibi is the fishiest thing on God’s earth! No innocent person ever has an alibi!

It’s not what I say to my patients, Superintendent, but a man may as well wear out as rust out.

It has been said, you know (and, I think, quite truly), that you can only really get under anybody’s skin if you are married to them. When there is no—no legal bond, people are much more careful, they have to keep assuring themselves how happy and halcyon everything is. They have, you see, to justify themselves. They dare not quarrel! Married people, I have noticed, quite enjoy their battles and the—er—appropriate reconciliations.”