Agatha Christie

Author of The Moving Finger and 140+ Books

Agatha Christie
Agatha Christie


Agatha Christie has also written romantic novels under the pseudonym Mary Westmacott and has sometimes been published under the name Agatha Christie Mallowan. Agatha Christie is the best-selling author of all time. She wrote in Romance, under a pseudonym, 66 crime novels and story collections, 14 plays and six novels. Her books sold more than a billion copies in English and a billion copies in English translation. She remains the most translated ... individual author, having been translated into at least 103 languages, according to Index Translationum. She is the creator of two of crime literature's most enduring figures—Hercule Poirot and Miss Jane Marple—and author of The Mousetrap, the longest-running play in modern theater history. Agatha Mary Clarissa Miller was born as the youngest of three in Torquay, Devon, England, U.K. The Millers had two other kids: Margaret Frary Miller (18791950), named Madge, aged eleven, and Louis Montant Miller (18801929), named Monty, ten years older than Agatha. She had served in a Devon hospital during the First World War before marrying and starting a family in London, tending to have troops coming back from the trenches. She worked as a nurse at a hospital during the First World War; later, she worked at a hospital pharmacy, a job that influenced her work, as many of the assassinations in her books are done with poison. During World War II, she worked as a pharmacy assistant at University College Hospital, London, acquiring a good knowledge of poisons in many of her novels. Her first novel, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, was published in 1920. During her first marriage, Agatha published six novels, a collection of short stories, and several short stories in magazines. The couple quarreled on December 8, 1926, and Archie Christie left their house at Sunningdale, Berkshire, to spend the weekend at Godalming, Surrey with his mistress. Agatha disappeared from her home that same evening, leaving her secretary with a letter saying she was going to Yorkshire. Her disappearance has caused a public outcry, many of whom have been admirers of her novels. She was not found for eleven days despite a massive manhunt. In 1930, after joining him in an archeological dig, Christie married archeologist Max Mallowan (Sir Max from 1968). In the early years their marriage was particularly happy and remained so until the death of Christies in 1976. Christie often used familiar settings for her stories. Traveling with Mallowan, Christies contributed background to several of her Middle East novels. In and around Torquay, where she was born, other novels (such as And Then There Were None) were placed. Christies 1934 novel Murder on the Orient Express was written at the railway's southern terminus at the Hotel Pera Palace in Istanbul, Turkey. As a memorial to the author, the hotel maintains the Christies room. The Greenway Estate in Devon, acquired as a summer residence by the couple in 1938, is now in the care of the National Trust. Christie has frequently stayed at Abney Hall in Cheshire, owned by her brother-in-law, James Watts. At least two of her stories were based on the hall: the short story The Christmas Pudding Adventure, and the novel After the Funeral. Abney Hall became Agathas' greatest inspiration for country-house life, with all the servants and greatness that were woven into her plots. She was appointed Commander of the Order of the British Empire in the New Year Honors in 1956 to honor her many literary works. She became the Detection Club's president the following year. Agatha Christie's wikipedia entryREAD MORE

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If you are to be Hercule Poirot, you must think of everything.

Hercule Poirot: I am an imbecile. I see only half of the picture.
Miss Lemon: I don't even see that.

Never do anything yourself that others can do for you.

Curious things, habits. People themselves never knew they had them.
[Witness for the Prosecution, also published in The Hound of Death and Other Stories.]

I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow; but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.

It is clear that the books owned the shop rather than the other way about. Everywhere they had run wild and taken possession of their habitat, breeding and multiplying, and clearly lacking any strong hand to keep them down.

You gave too much rein to your imagination. Imagination is a good servant, and a bad master. The simplest explanation is always the most likely.

An archaeologist is the best husband a woman can have. The older she gets, the more interested he is in her.

The best time for planning a book is while you're doing the dishes.

As a matter of fact it wouldn’t be safe to tell any man the truth about his wife! Funnily enough, I’d trust most women with the truth about their husbands. Women can accept the fact that a man is a rotter, a swindler, a drug taker, a confirmed liar, and a general swine, without batting an eyelash, and without its impairing their affection for the brute in the least. Women are wonderful realists.

A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity. It dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path.
-The Last Seance (from The Hound of Death and Other Stories, also Double Sin and Other Stories)

Bagi sebagian orang kebenaran itu penting, sebab mereka dapat menerimanya. Mereka dapat menghadapi kebenaran dengan tabah - ketabahan yang hanya dimiliki orang-orang yang mengharapkan kehidupan yang cerah.

I know there's a proverb which that says 'To err is human,' but a human error is nothing to what a computer can do if it tries.

It is a curious thought, but it is only when you see people looking ridiculous that you realize just how much you love them.

He was very much a man of moods, possibly owing to what is styled the artistic temperment. I have never seen, myself, why the possession of artistic ability should be supposed to excuse a man from a decent exercise of self-control.

One doesn't recognize the really important moments in one's life until it's too late.

Then there are some minor points that strike me as suggestive - for instance, the position of Mrs. Hubbard's sponge bag, the name of Mrs. Armstrong's mother, the detective methods of Mr. Hardman, the suggestion of Mr. MacQueen that Ratchett himself destroyed the charred note we found, Princess Dragomiroff's Christian name, and a grease spot on a Hungarian passport.

If you confront anyone who has lied with the truth, he will usually admit it - often out of sheer surprise. It is only necessary to guess right to produce your effect.

I don't think necessity is the mother of invention. Invention . . . arises directly from idleness, possibly also from laziness. To save oneself trouble.

In the midst of life, we are in death.

There is too much tendency to attribute to God the evils that man does of his own free will. I must concede you the Devil. God doesn't really need to punish us, Miss Barton. We're so busy punishing ourselves.

I do not argue with obstinate men. I act in spite of them.

It is really a hard life. Men will not be nice to you if you are not good-looking, and women will not be nice to you if you are.

The young people think the old people are fools -- but the old people know the young people are fools.

She was a lucky woman who had established a happy knack of writing what quite a lot of people wanted to read.

Poirot," I said. "I have been thinking."
"An admirable exercise my friend. Continue it.

I always think loyalty's such a tiresome virtue.

When engaged in eating, the brain should be the servant of the stomach.

Oh, I'm not afraid of death! What have I got to live for after all? I suppose you believe it's very wrong to kill a person who has injured you-even if they've taken away everything you had in the world?

In fact-Dr. Sheppard!

I have no pity for myself either. So let it be Veronal. But I wish Hercule Poirot had never retired from work and come here to grow vegetable marrows.

At my time of life, one knows that the worst is usually true.

It's so much nicer to be a secret and delightful sin to anybody than to be a feather in his cap.

I've always believed in writing without a collaborator, because where two people are writing the same book, each believes he gets all the worries and only half the royalties.

Handsome, strong, gay ... She felt again the thro and lilt of her blood. She had loved Kameni in that moment. She loved him now. Kameni could take the place that Khay had held in her life.
She thought: 'We shall be happy together - yes, we shall be happy. We shall live together and take pleasure in each other and we shall have strong, handsome children. There will be busy days full of work ... and days of pleasure when we sail on the River...Life will be again as I knew it with Khay...What could I ask more than that? What do I want more than that?'
And slowly, very slowly indeed, she turned her face towards Hori. It was as though, silently, she asked him a question.
As though he understood her, he answered:
'When you were a child, I loved you. I loved your grave face and the confidence with which you came to me, asking me to mend your broken toys. And then, after eight years' absence, you came again and sat here, and brought me the thoughts that were in your mind. And your mind, Renisenb, is not like the minds of the rest of your family. It does not turn in upon itself, seeking to encase itself in narrow walls. Your mind is like my mind, it looks over the River, seeing a world of changes, of new ideas - seeing a world where all things are possible to those with courage and vision...'
She broke off, unable to find words to frame her struggling thoughts. What life would be with Hori, she did not know. In spite of his gentleness, in spite of his love for her, he would remain in some respects incalculable and incomprehensible. They would share moments of great beauty and richness together - but what of their common daily life?
I have made my choice, Hori. I will share my life with you for good or evil, until death comes...
With his arms round her, with the sudden new sweetness of his face against hers, she was filled with an exultant richness of living.

There is nothing more thrilling in this world, I think, than having a child that is yours, and yet is mysteriously a stranger.

Everybody always knows something," said Adam, "even if it's something they don't know they know.

The amount of missing girls I've had to trace and their family and their friends always say the same thing. 'She was a bright and affectionate disposition and had no men friends'. That's never true. It's unnatural. Girls ought to have men friends. If not, then there's something wrong about them....

mrs. McGinty’s did she die?
down on one knee..just like I
mrs. McGinty’s did she die?
holding her hand out..just like I
mrs. McGinty’s dead.. how did she die?
sticking her neck out..just like I

If you place your head in a lion's mouth, then you cannot complain one day if he happens to bite it off.

But surely for everything you love you have to pay some price.

To every problem, there is a most simple solution.

You do think you know about everything," said her husband.
I do," said Tuppence.

Words are such uncertain things, they so often sound well but mean the opposite of what one thinks they do.

No, my friend, I am not drunk. I have just been to the dentist, and need not return for another six months! Is it not the most beautiful thought?

An appreciative listener is always stimulating.

Everything must be taken into account. If the fact will not fit the theory---let the theory go.

Real evidence is usually vague and unsatisfactory. It has to be examined---sifted. But here the whole thing is cut and dried. No, my friend, this evidence has been very cleverly manufactured---so cleverly that it has defeated its own ends.

When you find that people are not telling you the truth---look out!

Instinct is a marvelous thing. It can neither be explained nor ignored.


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