“But no artist, I now realize, can be satisfied with art alone. There is a natural craving for recognition which cannot be gain-said.”

“I have always noticed that these artists and writers are very unbalanced”

“Well,” said Adam, as Poirot went out. “First girls’ knees, and now draughtsmanship! What next, I wonder!”

“He was very much a man of moods, possibly owing to what is styled the artistic temperament. 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.”

“As you yourself have said, what other explanation can there be?'Poirot stared straight ahead of him. 'That is what I ask myself,' he said. 'That is what I never cease to ask myself.”

“I was wrong about that young man of yours. A man when he is making up to anybody can be cordial and gallant and full of little attentions and altogether charming. But when a man is really in love, he can't help looking like a sheep. Now, whenever that young man looked at you, he looked like a sheep. I take back all I said this morning. It is genuine.”

“I never can stand seeing people pleased with themselves,” said Joanna. “It arouses all my worst instincts.”