“I can see we're going to get along like a house on fire," said Miss Tick. "There may be no survivors.”

“You can get used to anything - haven't I already said that? Isn't that what all survivors say?”

“Because of the information discussed on page nine, experts now suspect that there may in fact be one survivor of the fire, but the survivor's whereabouts are unknown.”

“If we know exactly where we're going, exactly how to get there, and exactly what we'll see along the way, we won't learn anything.”

“Dicko: There was something missing from that performance. It was the tick tick tick of your mind working. That was the first time we saw you sing without thinking about what you're doing. Now the trick is to follow along on that road. Simple melody sung beautifully - well done.”

“I have always said we are not afraid of a ceasefire, but our stance is that if there is a cease‐fire it must go along with a political settlement.”

“Woman: Do come along quick, there's a house on fire.
Fire Chief: A house on fire? Just a moment, lady – what's the address?
Woman: Grimshaw Street.
Fire Chief: Grimshaw Street – Grimshaw … now wait a minute, I know it as well as can be, and I just can't place it.
Woman: Oh come along, it's only just round…
Fire Chief: No, no, no – don't tell me, let me try and think of it for myself. Grimshaw St–… oh, isn't that annoying, I could walk straight to it, and I can't think of it.”

““I really did suffer a lot,” she said, “and for a lot longer than I even care to remember. I was sure I’d never find anything to take the place of ballet, and it took all my energy just to get through each day. My parents and my friends all said that time alone would heal the wound, and I guess I knew it was true, but I wished I could hibernate or something, and let time go by without having to suffer through it. But of course the clock just kept slowly ticking away. Tick, tick, tick”

“I can see myself now, she said. And I can see what I want to be, ten years from now. But I don't understand how I'm going to get from here to there.”

“"Well", said Miss Marple. "Are you going to let her get away with it?" There was a pause, then Father brought down his fist with a crash on the table. "No", he roared — "No, by God I'm not!" Miss Marple nodded her head slowly and gravely. "May God have mercy on her soul," she said.”