Death on the Nile (2022) Best Quotes

Hercule Poirot: [to Bouc] There are many fine detectives. Well, that is not true. There are many average detectives. But to be what I am, it requires fixedness of mind. The little grey cells pampered, indulged, given all the oxygen in my blood, and minutes on my clock. No, I leave the tempest of love to you.

Hercule Poirot: You are trying to keep secrets from me? From me? From me? Rosalie Otterbourne is an overtly beautiful woman, and Bouc has not spoken to her once?
Bouc: It’s nothing short of gobsmacked love! Look, I’ve been bursting to tell you. Linnet introduced us months ago, and since then, there hasn’t been another woman I’ve wanted to look at, except as a nanny to our children. She is the cleverest, most shocking, most alive woman I’ve ever met. I’m outclassed in a breath, and she loves me anyway. I mean, it’s the only bad mark against her.

Hercule Poirot: [referring to Euphemia] And her opinion, does it matter?
Bouc: Money matters, and mine comes monthly from Euphemia Bouc. I’ve tried to earn enough so that I don’t need her permission to marry, only her blessing. But I’m just rotten at it. All my life, I never wanted to be anything to anyone but an amusement. But for Rosalie, I want to be good.

Euphemia Bouc: It’s bad enough to be married for one lifetime. To be side by side for eternity is inhumane.
Bouc: Why must you be so cynical, Mother?
Euphemia Bouc: People build towers to love in song and stone, as if cooing over a pair of dark eyes will save them from pain. If anything, it will double it.

Euphemia Bouc: [referring to Rosalie] Think you and that beautiful girl will be the exception?
Bouc: Not every love turns to misery.
Euphemia Bouc: No. The lucky ones die in childbirth. It’s my job to protect you. You think I don’t know what you’re after? You, you want my blessing to marry that girl. Well, you can’t have it.

Hercule Poirot: [referring to Rosalie and Bouc] You approve of them?
Salome Otterbourne: First man she ever brought home, a wealthy lawyer. Straight, narrow, on his way to being a Missouri Senator. Then, there was a baron who owned islands, manners of a king. Now, it’s this penniless Bouc, who drinks too much, and laughs too loud, and always at the wrong thing. I like him best.

Hercule Poirot: Do you have a husband, madame?
Salome Otterbourne: I’ve had a handful of husbands. Each one, a handful. Are you married, Mr. Poirot?
Hercule Poirot: I have not that felicity.
Salome Otterbourne: Which felicity do you have?
Hercule Poirot: I have my cases. I have my books. In fact, I have my eye on a cottage where I hope eventually to retire and garden.

Linnet Ridgeway: [referring to Jacqueline] She always does this! Just tell me what it costs to get her away from me! Name a price! I’ll buy the whole damn boat if I have to. I’ll buy the whole damn country!

Marie Van Schuyler: I love that girl Linnet. But when the revolution comes, she’ll be the first. Blindfold, last cigarette, up against the wall. Bang!

Jacqueline de Bellefort: You’re not built for boats.
Hercule Poirot: Or champagne.
Jacqueline de Bellefort: Did you know that the wives of dead pharaohs were buried alive with them? They must have been locked in screaming. But I bet there was one who was willing and couldn’t bear to be parted.

Jacqueline de Bellefort: Like it or not, I’m in his thoughts. Simon is afraid of me.
Hercule Poirot: Mademoiselle, you have a choice still. You can ruin his life, or begin a new one. It may not be the life that you imagined, but perhaps it will be the life that God intended.
Jacqueline de Bellefort: Love is far too important to trust to God.

Jacqueline de Bellefort: From the moment I met Simon, I knew one thing for absolute certain, I will die if we are parted.
Hercule Poirot: I once felt as you do. I loved so much. I thought that if I lost her, I should die. I lost her.
Jacqueline de Bellefort: To another man?
Hercule Poirot: A mortar shell.

Hercule Poirot: After Katherine, I became whatever it is I am now. I was going to be a farmer. Forgive me, the champagne, it loosens the memory and the mouth.

Linnet Ridgeway: Jackie, I wish you well. I do. I’m not sorry for what we did, but I’m so sorry for what it did to you. I wish we could stay friends. You were the only one who never cared about the money.

Jacqueline de Bellefort: You can’t get rid of me that easily, Simon. We were bound. Heart and body, I gave you all of me.
Simon Doyle: A few months of good times? Hmm? Were they even that good? I swear, looking at you now makes all the fond memories go sour. It’s like trying to remember a party after you’ve been sick.
Rosalie Otterbourne: Simon, don’t be cruel.
Simon Doyle: I’ve run dry on sympathy!

Simon Doyle: You’re a fool if you thought I could ever love you again. I don’t think I ever did.
Bouc: Simon, that’s enough.
Jacqueline de Bellefort: You don’t mean that. You don’t. Say you don’t mean it!
[she takes her gun out and suddenly shoot him]

Simon Doyle: That was so stupid of me to rile up Jacks like that.
Rosalie Otterbourne: You’re a bright boy now. You just might deserve that bullet.

Hercule Poirot: Someone is dead. Linnet Doyle.
Bowers: Linnet? Stop. What do you mean? How?
Hercule Poirot: I’m afraid Jacqueline de Bellefort has made good on her threat.

Hercule Poirot: Did you go anywhere else? See or hear anything else?
Louise Bourget: Forgive me, sir. If I had come outside my cabin to smoke, I might have seen her killer enter or leave her cabin.
Hercule Poirot: But you did not or you did? What is this?

Bouc: [referring to Linnet’s body] All the money in the world, and she’s in the freezer with the hams.
Hercule Poirot: This is as much dignity as we can afford the dead in these circumstances.

Hercule Poirot: Your thoughts to her were always tender. What of the husband?
Windlesham: I don’t know him well. What I do know, I can’t recommend.
Hercule Poirot: This is appropriate. Mr. Doyle would have us focus our suspicions on you.

Hercule Poirot: She was unkind, no? She flaunted her new love, yet still called you like the puppy dog. Seeing them pained you, and like the strong opiate injection, you could end your pain with a bullet. Lords demand to get what they want, and you are still a lord.
Windlesham: What do you want me to say?! What do you want me to say?! That I know I’m ridiculous?

Windlesham: I’m not a fool. I knew she was settling for me. I didn’t mind. When she married Simon, I actually thought about ending my own life. They all thought our engagement was for the families, the papers, for the damn aristocratic theatrics of it all. The shame of it is, I loved her.

Hercule Poirot: I am Hercule Poirot. I do not need to be told. I have eyes and they see. A brain and it thinks. It now thinks somewhat poorly of you.

Hercule Poirot: You have been a nurse companion for how long?
Bowers: Well, coming on ten years. All with Mrs. Van Schuyler, so it feels like twenty.

Bowers: He’s just accused me of shooting Linnet.
Hercule Poirot: No, no, no. I merely suggest a possibility.
Marie Van Schuyler: I don’t approve of this interrogation. I mean, who are you to question us?
Hercule Poirot: I am the working man. The skilled laborer. The hero of your own economic fairy tales.
Marie Van Schuyler: Well, I don’t care for it. Or for you.

Marie Van Schuyler: You accuse me now of murder?
Bouc: Oh, no. He accuses everyone of murder.
Hercule Poirot: It is a problem, I admit.

Hercule Poirot: [to Marie, referring to Bowers] My mind ask, here is a woman for whom the fire against class and materialism burns so hot, and yet she keeps a servant? No. Her servant is no servant, nor nurse, only companion. Let us name the reason. Love. And I know this. It’s alright. People kill for love.

Salome Otterbourne: Ooh, I like this. The full force of his forceful attention. The great mind, all mine.
Hercule Poirot: Flirtation, however delightful, will have no effect.
Salome Otterbourne: A woman shows you a direct bit of interest, and you assume it can only be to hide guilt. Whoever she was must’ve done a number on you. That mask covers your whole face, doesn’t it?

Salome Otterbourne: Monsieur Poirot, if I put a bullet in everyone who took a potshot at me for not keeping to my place, the world would be littered with dead white ladies.

Rosalie Otterbourne: Truth to tell, Linnet was as easy to hate as love. I might have done both.
Hercule Poirot: That is a very honest reply.

Salome Otterbourne: [to Poirot, referring to her gun] I’ve used it, if you want to ask. Twice in defense, once in anger. Last night was not that once. You tell me if I’m lying.

Hercule Poirot: Madame, it was Linnet Doyle who introduced your son to a woman you distrust, no?
Euphemia Bouc: Rest assured, if I had a bullet in my pocket to correct my son’s poor taste, I would not spend it on Mrs. Doyle.

Hercule Poirot: Bouc. I will make my own confession. When we met in Giza, I told you I was on vacation from my detective work when in fact, I was, and have been on a case.
Bouc: What case?
Hercule Poirot: You.

Hercule Poirot: I was bidden to follow the Otterbournes to determine the character and fitness of the show business woman who had stolen your heart.
Bouc: You did this to me?
Euphemia Bouc: I’m your mother. I’ve done far worse.

Hercule Poirot: Rosalie Otterbourne is irrevocably in love with your son, and is his better in virtue. She is more than fit. She is a find.
Bouc: It wasn’t enough that we’re happy.
Euphemia Bouc: I did not trust her. Despite the detective, I still don’t.
Bouc: I love her. That has to count for something.
Euphemia Bouc: Why should it?

Euphemia Bouc: Corinthians had it wrong on every point. Love isn’t patient or kind. It envies, and boasts, and doesn’t care who gets mowed down. It angers, it is irritable, it keeps record of every transgression against it, and good God, it fails. Sure as a face ages, love fails.

Rosalie Otterbourne: [to Poirot] I’ve had a chance to observe you. Want to know what I make of your character? He is obsessive, is vain, is smug, is lonely for a reason. A detestable, tiresome, bombastic, egocentric little freak.

Rosalie Otterbourne: Have you ever met a man who says his own name as many times as Hercule Poirot?

Euphemia Bouc: [to Poirot] How many have to die before you do something? A throat cut while you run me over the coals.
Jacqueline de Bellefort: He’s trying.
Bowers: Well, he’d better try harder. Or we’ll all wind up in an Egyptian jail cell.

Bouc: I’m a suspect now?
Hercule Poirot: How long did you know Linnet Doyle?
Bouc: I know your tricks. I’ve seen this play before from that side of the table.

Hercule Poirot: God, I was so happy to see you, Bouc. But you lie to me. You lie in my face! And now, you make yourself my prey.

Bouc: [to Poirot, referring to stealing Linnet’s necklace] I wanted to tell you. All I thought was how happy we’d be. We could run off and get married. No obligations. We’d be free. Stupid! It was so stupid, I know.

Bouc: You were a terrible friend, Poirot. Why did you have to teach me to be good? You could never understand what people will do for love.
Simon Doyle: Come on!
[after which he’s suddenly shot and killed]

Hercule Poirot: [referring to Bouc] I have never seen anyone so happy as he when he was with you.
Rosalie Otterbourne: He told me how much he hoped you’d be happy one day too. That you’d get tired of being just a pure cold detective. Be human instead. I don’t want you happy. I want you to find who did this.

Euphemia Bouc: You have failed your every duty. His friend.
Hercule Poirot: I did fail. Linnet Doyle. Louise Bourget. Bouc. I will not fail him now.

Hercule Poirot: The murderer is here. And will stay here.

Hercule Poirot: Miss Otterbourne is right. I love to talk. An audience. I am vain, you see. I love people to hear me bring the solution to a crime and say, “See, how clever is Hercule Poirot.” When all I want now, would give anything for is one conversation with Bouc. I would stomp about and say, “Around a person like Linnet Doyle there are so many conflicting hates and jealousies. It is like the cloud of flies, buzzing, buzzing.” And he would laugh at me. “Then play your clever games,” he would say. “Ask your questions till the right one comes. Who would want to kill her? Who could have?” And then, I would ask, and I would see. Yes, Bouc showed me too late. A person in love will do anything. Love makes us do reckless things. Rash things.

Hercule Poirot: Linnet Doyle’s murder was not a wild act. It was methodically planned. The details, the times, the bullets, the alibis. But planned by who?

Hercule Poirot: [referring to Euphemia’s red paint] It was stolen by Linnet Doyle’s murderer. By her husband, Simon Doyle.
Simon Doyle: Me? That’s ridiculous.
Windlesham: How could he? He was shot.
Hercule Poirot: Yes, he was shot. We know this for certain. What we do not know for certain is when he was shot. Or what he did in the moments after we believed that he was.

Hercule Poirot: [to Doyle] Your alibi secured, you avoid suspicion. Indeed, you ensured a multitude of suspects. Encouraging a guest list not merely of friends and family, but exclusively those carrying grudge or grievance against your wife. Even our entertainment. All passing as a new husband’s thoughtfulness. Blame deflected in every direction except at you.

Hercule Poirot: The second and third murders were committed by his accomplice in the first, and, I believe, by the mastermind behind this entire ingenious plot. Jacqueline de Bellefort. His lover once. His lover still. Introducing the couple. Stalking them. Finding them aboard this ship. Shooting Simon with a blank. All to create two unassailable alibis. The grieving husband left to inherit his wife’s fortune, and then, in time, to marry the woman he loves. Has always loved.

Jacqueline de Bellefort: Oh, how clever is Hercule Poirot.
Hercule Poirot: Was the ambition his or yours?
Jacqueline de Bellefort: He needed things. I needed him.
Hercule Poirot: You never cared for money. But you could deny him nothing. Not even a plan when he could not devise his own.

Simon Doyle: We can make it. We’ve got to go now, and we’ve got to be strong.
Jacqueline de Bellefort: We can be strong. We can be strong.
[as they embrace, she shoots Simon through the back, killing them both]

Salome Otterbourne: [as they’re saying goodbye] I wish I’d never got to see you work.
Hercule Poirot: Perhaps…
[six months later, Poirot, now clean shaven, goes to Salome’s club to hear her sing]