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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.” ― M.C. Beaton

The cruellest lies are often told in silence. —Robert Louis Stevenson

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

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.

When love grows diseas’d, the best thing we can do is put it to a violent death; I cannot endure the torture of a lingring and consumptive passion. —Sir George Etherege

truth,

Always works a treat. All these old stoves are raging alcoholics.

She doesn’t have a conscience.” “Come on. We all have one.” “No, some are born without one. It’s always everyone else’s fault.” “I’ll get Jimmy Anderson onto

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent stars go by. —Philips Brooks

You always run to answer the bell, Agatha, and when you see me, your face always falls in disappointment, as if you were expecting someone else.

pale grey eyes. ‘Mr Herriot,’ Hamish began, ‘can you tell me who you voted for to be Lammas queen last year?’ ‘I voted for Iona, the lassie on the switchboard.’ ‘Would it surprise you to learn that all ten votes were for Annie Fleming?

en général, là où tu passes, les gens trépassent.

The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Though the day of my destiny’s over, And the star of my fate has declined. —Lord Byron

The best laid schemes o’ mice and men,

By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes. —William Shakespeare

Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world —Shakespeare

I’ll feed the cats and give them some food.

I mean, that’s the creepy thing about Sutherland when you’re out on your own under the stars. You feel like an intruder. But the birds belong.

what sinks of iniquity these little villages can be

Scotland had murdered sleep.

One day a baking competition, another a murder.

You can't make a mistake with trifle.

The gloom suited her mood.

Tut! I have done a thousand dreadful things As willingly as one would kill a fly. —SHAKESPEARE

The room into which she led them was sunny and filled with a cosy clutter of books, flowers, chintz-covered furniture and the strains of Max Bruch’s Violin Concerto in G Minor.

A rowan tree outside the café tossed its bare branches up as if pleading with the menacing sky.

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

Like all people who don’t really quite know who they are and consider their job their identity, Agatha felt totally diminished.

The weather was sunny and mild. She had plenty of books to read and was in the grip of Eric Ambler’s Journey Into Fear.

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.

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.

I beg your pardon?” declared Mrs. Davenport in the tones of Edith Evans saying, “In a handbag?

The door of her dressing-room opened and a face covered with a gas mask peered round it. Robin turned round and scowled. She did not associate much with the foot soldiers of the cast. But he eased in, carrying a splendid bunch of red roses. “To match your beauty,” he said, his voice muffled behind the mask. Robin suddenly beamed. “You are a love. What beautiful flowers!” “I see you’ve a vase over there. I’ll just pop them in for you.” “You haven’t told me your name,” said Robin.

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

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.

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.

Perhaps some languid summer day, When drowsy birds sing less and less, And golden fruit is ripening to excess,

pearly gloaming,

What is she eating? Oats?

Agatha had initially planned to treat herself to lunch at the Randolph Hotel, but instead she walked into McDonald’s, ignoring the cry from a wild-eyed woman of, “Capitalist swine.” Agatha ordered a burger, fries and a black coffee and secured a table by looming over two students and driving them away. She wished she had gone to the Randolph instead. It was all the fault of the politically correct and people like that woman who had shouted at her, she reflected. It was the sort of thing that made you want to buy a mink coat, smoke twenty a day and eat in McDonald’s out of sheer bloody-mindedness.

The tidying-up had been forgotten when a couple of glasses of Shiraz had made a TV documentary about the successful reintroduction of the red kite to the wild in Britain seem unmissable.

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

Do you know there is a circle in hell where I will probably end up which is one huge supermarket? The shopping trolleys always go sideways, the children always scream, I always have at least one item of shopping which doesn’t have the bar code on it and so I wait and wait until someone goes and finds one with the bar code and the people in the lengthening crowd behind me hate me. Or when I get to the check-out at the Express Lane, Nine Items Only, three people in front of me have at least twenty items and I haven’t the courage to protest. Or the woman at the till who knows everyone in the line except me indulges in long and happy chit-chat and when it gets to me she decides to change the roll of paper in the till. Or the woman in front of me watches all her groceries sliding along and stares at them without packing them, and then she slowly takes out her cheque-book and slowly proceeds to write a cheque and then insists on carefully packing her plastic shopping bags according to type of grocery. And then, when it’s all over and I get to the revolving doors and see daylight outside, I suddenly find myself back at the beginning to the whole process.

When the Hymalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride, He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside. But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail For the female of the species is more deadly than the male. —Rudyard Kipling

Rummel, rummel roond the gums. Look out stomach, here it comes!

She was poor but she was honest, Victim of a rich man’s game. First he loved her, then he left her, And she lost her maiden name. It’s the same the whole world over, It’s the poor wot gets the blame, It’s the rich wot gets the gravy. Ain’t it all a bleedin’ shame! —Military song, First World War

How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. —Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Hannah Thomson was a retired midwife. So how did Kate Hibbert get hold of these things? She had only arrived in Lochdubh around a year ago and was a stranger to the place. It was highly unlikely that she burgled Hannah’s cottage five years ago, but she may have got her hands on the jewellery and the watch while she was working as Hannah’s cleaner.

Have you got anything for us on that boat up on The Corloch?” “Aye, it belongs to someone who keeps it there from time to time for the fishing,” Jimmy said. “His name’s Morgan Mackay.” Hamish and Davey exchanged a glance. “Bogdan and Mackay could easily lug a body around,” said Davey, “and take it out in a boat to dump it.” “But if the water level was lower than they were used to,” Hamish went on, “they could have torn open the bottom of the boat on rocks they would normally have glided over, panicked and ended up dumping the body in shallower water than they intended.” “Do you know

MI5. The Chief Constable waved a copy o’ the Official Secrets Act under our noses and threatened us wi’ loss o’ rank, loss o’ our pensions and even the jail if we didn’t keep our traps shut. The secret boys said it was a ‘matter of national security.

You were spying?” Davey said, astounded. “For the Russians? Why would you do that?” “Because I have the courage of my convictions, my boy,” Mackay said, his voice momentarily gaining strength. “There were those of us who believed we were doing the right thing in helping the Soviets, as they were then, to keep up with the West. We were helping to maintain the balance of power, helping to prevent the war that would destroy the planet.

Spring came reluctantly to the Highlands, crawling in on sleety gusts of wind. Then one day, the sun shone down from a cloudless sky.

The very mountains in the distance were blue, as if taking their colour from the cloudless sky above.

out in the Atlantic, huge waves lit by flashes of lightning were rearing up. It seemed like the end of the world, as though the sea were coming back to claim its own,

Once more he took the road to Braikie under the chill light of a small yellow sun, rising above the mountains.

Yes, I did, but you’re never going to prove it because you aren’t going to walk out of here alive.” She shot Hamish Macbeth full in the chest and watched with satisfaction as he keeled over on the floor.

A Sutherland gale was blowing and whipping spray from the white crests of the waves into his eyes.

Passing through Inchnadamph, the white walls of Inchnadamph Lodge dazzled in the sunshine to his left. The house had been built as a manse for the old kirk down near the loch around two hundred years ago but was now a popular bed-and-breakfast place, the decline in religious dedication among the populace having more-or-less coincided with the rise of the tourist trade.

deal with Blair.” He had cornered Hamish in the shrubbery at the Tommel Castle, where he thought there were no witnesses. Blair had a gun and was prepared to shoot Hamish to stop him from revealing his links to the Glasgow underworld. He might have done it had it not been for the mysterious American, James Bland, who helped Hamish disarm Blair. Such was Hamish’s fury over Blair’s involvement with the gangsters who had killed Dorothy, he had then turned the gun on him. Only the arrival in the increasingly crowded shrubbery of Mary, Blair’s long-suffering wife, had prevented him blowing Blair’s brains out.