Mc Beaton Quotes

Clever plastic surgery can restore an appearance of youth, but nothing changes the expression of age and experience in the eyes.

A lady is as young as the gentleman she feels," said Roy and cackled happily.

Ah, when love dies, women lose two and a half inches in height.

The other diners studied him with the polite frozen smiles the English use for threatening behaviour.

Agatha had that old feeling of being on the outside of life looking in.

Husbands are always angry, that's their nature. And the nature of us women, is not to pay a blind bit of notice.

And being very young and capable of violent mood swings, she then began to worry about what to wear for dinner.

Oh, really,” said Deborah brightly, “you don’t look like the sort of man who reads anything.

How odd that people could be so ugly, not particularly because of appearence, but because of the atmosphere of judgemental bad temper and discontent they carried around with them

What’s gone, and what’s past help Should be past grief. —William Shakespeare

Although she far outranked Hamish, she had to wait patiently, because this was Lochdubh, where Hamish Macbeth was king.

Man is the only animal that laughs and weeps; for he is the only animal that is struck with the difference between what things are, and what they ought to be. —William Hazlitt

They were obsessed, taken hostage, or co-dependent – anything rather than admit they were not in control, for the very word "love" now meant weakness.

Mrs. Wellington was wearing a voluminous flannel nightgown when she answered the door. Hamish was glad Mr. Wellington had found God, because it certainly looked as if he would need to wait until he got to heaven to get his reward.

Look for me by moonlight; Watch for me by moonlight; I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way! —Alfred Noyes

Good-bye healthy life and hullo rubber knickers and support hose?

When confronted with someone who appears to be in a perpetual state of outrage, it is tempting for other people to wind them up. Besides, I have always found the most vociferous guardians of morality on matters of sex are those who aren’t getting any.

You know, Mrs. Raisin, beauty is such a dangerous thing. It can slow character formation because people are always willing to credit the beautiful with character attributes they do not have.

I wish I loved the Human Race; I wish I loved its silly face; I wish I liked the way it walks; I wish I liked the way it talks: And when I’m introduced to one I wish I thought What Jolly Fun! —Sir Walter A. Raleigh

I am not in the mood to have my underwear examined.

He fished steadily, trying to fight down a dragging, aching sense of loss, wondering how one’s brain should know all the sensible answers while one’s emotions longed for the unattainable.

Christmas had done its usual merry work of setting husband against wife, relative against relative, and spreading bad will among men in general. People looked overfed and hung over and desperately worried about how much they had already spent.

Hamish’s family were unusual in that they had always celebrated Christmas—tree, turkey, presents and all. In parts of the Highlands, like Lochdubh, the old spirit of John Knox still wandered, blasting anyone with hellfire should they dare to celebrate this heathen festival. Hamish had often pointed out that none other than Luther was credited with the idea of the Christmas tree, having been struck by the sight of stars shining through the branches of an evergreen. But to no avail. Lochdubh lay silent and dark beside the black waters of the loch.

We have no choice but to move forward," said Mrs. Bloxby. "That is how life works. We must live our lives looking forward, but we can only truly know ourselves by looking back. We are defined by everything that we have done in the past, but our only hope of change lies in the future.

It’s like this. You are an eighty-five-per-cent person and James only gives twenty percent. It’s not a case of won’t, it’s a case of can’t.

Shouldn’t you be doing some work?” “I’ve got staff. Why keep a kennelful of dogs and bark myself?

They slipped quietly away while Heather continued her lecture, her eyes half-closed so that she could better enjoy the sound of her own voice, which went on and on.

Only a fool would cry for someone who didn’t really want them.

No one could remain an atheist with larks around, he thought dreamily.

She turned out to be one of those irritating people who get up to leave and then stand in the doorway chattering away.

You look as if you’ve crawled out of a young offenders’ institute. Go upstairs and wash that muck off,

I never wanted to be a literary writer. I wanted to be an entertainer. All I wanted was to give what a lot of writers had given me: a good time on a bad day.

I do hope so. That woman has halitosis of the soul.

See, the happy moron, He doesn’t give a damn, I wish I were a moron, My God! perhaps I am! —Anonymous

The secret of life is honesty and fair dealing. If you can fake that, you’ve got it made. —Groucho Marx

Agatha’s last case had concerned a Sweeny Todd of a murderer over at Winter Parva.

like most thin-skinned people who have been snubbed, he could not leave the snubbers alone.

Aye, it’s an unfair world when you think of it. If that man had been a woman, he’d have been called a harlot!

… one of those people who would be enormously improved by death. —Saki

Agatha doubled her rates and then said, “Of course, I halve them for a friend.

Agatha went out into the garden. The air was fresh and scented with autumn flowers. She took a deep breath, thinking how good country air was for her health, and then lit a cigarette.

Bill and Alice were in the kitchen. Doris had served them coffee and biscuits. “Sit down, Agatha,” said Bill. “Of course I’m going to sit down,” said Agatha crossly. “It’s my own bloody house. I can sit on the damned chimney if I feel like it.

The breeze sent sunny ripples dancing across the sea loch. The village of Lochdubh in Sutherland looked like a picture postcard with its row of small eighteenth-century whitewashed cottages facing the sea loch. Hamish was leaning on the seawall, thinking dark thoughts about getting Charlie transferred back to Strathbane, that ghastly town full of drugs and crime.

Threw her dirty clothes on the floor for me to pick up and launder. Never gave me nothing for Christmas except insults.

Everyone who was anyone, Alice gathered, went to Scotland in August to kill things. If you weren’t slaughtering grouse, you were gaffing salmon.

Jeremy rested the oars. ‘Pooh, it’s hot. Let’s take some clothes off.’ Alice blushed painfully. Of course he meant they should remove some of their outer woollens, but Alice was at an age when everything seemed to sound sexy.

She simply had to get Jeremy back. Remembering everything she had been taught, she balanced herself on the slippery pebbles under the water and cast carefully and neatly towards Jeremy’s retreating back. ‘Caught ’im,’ thought Alice. Aloud, she called, ‘Sorry, Jeremy darling. I’m afraid I’ve hooked you.’ Now, in the romances that Alice read, Jeremy should have said something like, ‘You caught me a long time ago,’ and then walked slowly towards her and taken her in his powerful arms. What he did say in fact was, ‘Silly bitch. There’s the whole loch to fish from. Come here and help me get this hook out.

The world is one planet full of tourists... or displaced people.

Did anyone ever age gracefully? Or was it a choice of giving up or going down fighting?

But in affairs, it was sometimes better to travel slowly than arrive too quickly. Instant gratification certainly knocked the spiritual side out of romance, no matter how much the modern mind tried to shout down the primitive emotions.

But he wouldn’t kill just to get a wee bit more land.” “Oh, yes he would. Or rather, that’s the gossip. He craves land and more land. You know what land greed’s like.

Love seemed to mean a short period of rosy elation followed by months and years of dark agony and worry and tearing jealousy.

you must remember when the National Health Service started, Aggie.” Agatha winced at this reference to her age. “It was going to be easy free treatment for everyone. Now it’s all breaking down.

Cambridge is outstripping Oxford when it comes to brains,” commented Charles. “Why is that?” “For years now, Oxford’s gone in for inverted snobbery. They turn down bright pupils from private schools in order to favour pupils from comprehensive ones. Big mistake. It’s not only the rich who pay for the children’s education, but often it’s caring parents who are prepared to take out a second mortgage to pay school fees, and caring parents produce bright children.

We should be studying the latest patterns in shrouds instead of the latest fashions in gowns.

It’s hardly in a body’s pow’r. Tae keep, at times, frae being sour. —Robert Burns

Doris Simpson, her cleaner, was waiting for her when she got back. “How’s my Wyckhadden cat?” asked Agatha. She had brought a cat back with her from one of her previous “cases” but had found three cats just too much and the new cat adored Doris and so Doris had taken it over.

Agatha looked to where a stooped, elderly gentleman was standing in front of one of his photographs. “Who’s he?” “Mr. Parry is the man whose collection of old photographs it is. So sad. I would have thought more people would have been interested.” “Take over from me,” said Agatha. “I’ll have this place full in an hour.

He switched off the computer and went to Agatha’s cottage. Roy answered the door to him. “I’m John Armitage,” he said. “And I’m Roy Silver. Agatha’s getting changed. We’re going out for dinner. Come in.” John followed him into Agatha’s living-room. “Drink?” said Roy. He seemed very much at home. “Whisky, thanks. Agatha said something about phoning you asking for work.” “Oh, is that what she told you?” “Well, yes. What other reason could there be?” Roy gave him a salacious wink. “Oh,” said John, feeling discomfited. What on earth could Agatha see in this weird creature? He took a proffered glass of whisky from Roy. “Thanks. Known Agatha long?

He bent down and kissed her cheek. Agatha looked up at him in surprise. When he had left, she asked Roy, “Why did he call?” “Just to say hullo. I managed to imply we were having an affair.

The Russians have a saying: The fish always rots from the head down. You have a rotten boss and you get rotten staff.

A son and daughter and six grandchildren.” “Must be nice for you when they come on a visit.” “I’m afraid I only see them at Christmas. I think they find visits to me rather boring. The children are dreadfully spoilt.” How awful, thought Agatha, to be trapped here, never seeing anyone. Her mind worked busily. She would suggest to Mrs. Bloxby that they start an old folks’ club. Her stocks and shares had been doing very well. Maybe she could see about getting the church hall renovated, turn it into an old folks’ club. “The reason we called,

I had it in my mind that whoever beat him up or had him beaten up had something to do with his murder. A powerful man like Binser could have had him beaten up.” “You’ve been watching too many left-wing dramas on the box about sinister company executives, Agatha.” “It could have happened that way,” said Agatha stubbornly.

All right, just a small one. Have you ever noticed,” said Agatha, “how many people urge one to drink? I mean, it’s always drink. Say you don’t like fish. No one says, ‘Oh, go on, have one. Why not half a fish? Go on, why not a fish finger?’ No, it’s always drink, like drug pushers.

You'll never believe how domesticated I've become. Oh-- there's the doorbell, another meal for two.

We-ell, I probably shouldn’t be saying this…” Agatha waited patiently, convinced that nothing in this world could make Mrs. Cutler refrain from saying anything nasty about anyone else.

And you think you could do my job in public relations? Well, you can’t sleep your way into column inches. It’s been tried by sluts like you and it doesn’t work.

So we’re never to go detecting again?” Charles asked, pouring ketchup on his chips. “I can’t go around finding bodies to brighten up my life.

Wrong. The children have ruined Christmas for the adults.’ Agatha looked at him, puzzled. ‘How do you explain that?’ ‘They’ve come to expect to get exactly what they want. I know all this from friends of mine with children. Something new comes out in July, say. They clamour for it. No use saying, “Wait till Christmas.” They have to have it right away because it’ll be old hat by Christmas. They don’t want surprises. They want what they demand. So there are no shining faces under the Christmas tree, radiant with surprise and gratitude. Only complaints like, “Why did you buy me this computer game? It’s months old.” Greedy children and disappointed parents, that’s Christmas.

There had been two nasty stories recently about corrupt policemen, but the newspapers knew there was nothing more the British liked to read about than a brave bobby.

everything she wanted in life: beauty, tranquillity and security

Once inside her cottage, she slumped down on her sofa. The cats prowled around her hopefully. Agatha often forgot that she had fed them and would feed them again, but this time, she felt too tired to move.

After dinner, she took the box of books through to her sitting room. She selected a detective story by Marjorie Allingham and began to read. The next day, she chose one by Edmund Crispin and followed that up with one by Freeman Willis Croft.

She’s probably on a heavy dose of antidepressants. No one’s supposed to grieve these days.

This nanny state, the worst this country has known since the days of Cromwell,” and then went on to say that if the pub, that centre of social life in the village, closed down, then the village would lose its heart.

I wondered if George talked to you about anyone he was afraid of?” “No. We did have a laugh, though. Always joking and laughing, that was my George.” “Your George?” Agatha’s eyes sharpened. “Were you close?” Not her, surely, thought Agatha. The woman hasn’t even got her own teeth! “Bit of a kiss and a cuddle,” said Matilda complacently. “But that’s fellows for you. Had to fight ’em off all my life.” My self-worth is lower than whale shit, thought Agatha bitterly. All the trouble and expense I went to to try to lure him.

He was a bully. How that saint of a wife of his put up with him is beyond me.” Sod his wife, thought Agatha, gripped by a pang of jealousy.

Normally, Agatha’s powerful sex drive would already have plunged her into obsession, but John’s beauty had roused an almost teenage romanticism.

No!” shouted Agatha. She could not bear the idea of beautiful Toni even breathing the same air as John. “I mean, you’ve got a lot to do. Get on with it and leave the Winter Parva case to me.

She had a sudden longing to stop the car and go up to a cottage and ask to sit by the fire and forget about the whole blasted business. Then she thought that perhaps she should make a U-turn, go to the vicarage and use her friend, Mrs. Bloxby, as a sounding board. She slowly eased the car round on the icy road and headed back into Carsely. Ten minutes later, Agatha was ensconced in the vicarage drawing room in front of a log fire with a cup of tea in one hand and a buttered scone in the other. Mrs. Bloxby sat quietly with her hands folded in her lap, listening intently.

Toni selected a copy of The Franchise Affair by Josephine Tey. It was the first detective story she had ever read. She read on into the night, until her eyelids drooped and she fell asleep.

But it seems a clear case of suicide,” said Roy. “Suicides can be faked.” “The note was clear enough. I’m watching Law & Order. We’ll talk later.” Agatha glanced at the screen. “The rich kid did it.” “You’ve seen it before!” “No, I haven’t. American television can be terribly snobby. If there’s a rich college kid, he’s always the murderer.

Agatha had to stop the security guard from trying to resuscitate Amy. “Leave her,” she yelled, dragging him off. “Any idiot can see she’s stone dead. You’re tampering with evidence.

Agatha phoned her lawyer, a mild man called inappropriately Bill Sykes,

As she climbed out of her car, she found her knees were trembling. She clicked the lock on the car. She heard a voice call, “Agatha!” She swung round. The moon had disappeared behind a bank of clouds, and she saw a tall, dark figure approaching her. She was just opening her mouth to scream when a once loved voice said, “Are you all right? I heard about the murder on the radio.” “James?” said Agatha in a wondering voice. “Is it really you?” “Who else?” replied her ex-husband, James Lacey. “Oh, I am so glad to see you,” said Agatha, and burst into tears.

Inside Agatha’s cottage, James waited patiently in the kitchen while Agatha fled upstairs to repair her make-up. He looked just the same, she thought, with his thick hair going only a little grey at the sides and those intense blue eyes of his. Satisfied at last that she had done as much to her face as was possible, she sprayed on Coco Mademoiselle and went down the stairs.

I didn’t know double jeopardy didn’t apply anymore,” said Charles. “There was this chap, Billy Dunlop,” said Simon, “who was charged in nineteen-eighty-nine with the murder of twenty-two-year-old Julie Hogg. Julie’s mother, Mrs. Ming, ran a fifteen-year campaign to change the double jeopardy rule and finally succeeded. In two thousand and six, Dunlop was charged with the murder again and found guilty.

Look,” said Agatha, “I would like to speak to Mr. Bassett.” “I am Mrs. Bassett.” Her eyes raked Agatha from head to foot. You could leave the Birmingham slum, thought Agatha, but it was always there, deep inside, waiting to make you feel inferior.

She looked Agatha up and down and sighed. “You Jehovahs,” she said in an upper-class accent. “Dragging your poor children from door to door.” “I am not a Jehovah,” snapped Agatha. “My name is Agatha Raisin and this is one of my detectives, Miss Toni Gilmour.” “Oh, so you’re the female responsible for the deaths yesterday.” “Look,” said Agatha, “I would like to speak to Mr. Bassett.” “I am Mrs. Bassett.” Her eyes raked Agatha from head to foot. You could leave the Birmingham slum, thought Agatha, but it was always there, deep inside, waiting to make you feel inferior.

Several of the windows had been blocked up from the days when owners tried to avoid the window tax.

Has anyone ever told you that you are a very rude woman?” said Fred. “Maybe. But no one has ever accused me of interfering with anyone’s liberty.

She has beautiful hair, you must admit that. Like Rapunzel?” “Who?” demanded Agatha. Fairy stories had not been part of her deprived childhood.

Didn’t you think to warn anyone?” “I just thought the jam was badly preserved—like some people we know.” Maggie shot a sly look at Phyllis. They both looked at Agatha and giggled. I wish you precious pair had jumped off the tower, thought Agatha.

What can I do that the police can't?" "You've never let that stop you before.

Look, Aggie…” “Agatha to you, but Mrs. Raisin will do now that we’ve got to know each other so well.

Oh, that. It’s because he’s a vulgar pushy little man, insecure socially and always trying to put someone down. Cheer up. Maybe someone will murder him and then life around here will really get exciting.

It’s a wife’s job to support her husband,” said the captain sharply. “I remember when Lizzie told me she’d got a job as a secretary in Norwich. I soon put a stop to that.” Agatha sighed and relapsed into silence, wondering if there might not be another murder soon.

Agatha did not want to talk to any therapist or psychiatrist about her inner thoughts, mostly because half the time she did not know what they were anyway, and found life easier if she just ploughed o

She had not yet learned the hard lesson that women who love themselves too much are rarely loved by anyone else.

Before Charles could stop her, Agatha, nervous, had launched into a full brag of all the cases she had solved.