His Snores Sounded Like Ducks Mating.

He Was Beastly Tired, But It Was Hard To Stop. One More Book, He Had Told Himself, Then I'll Stop. One More Folio, Just One More. One More Page, Then I'll Go Up And Rest And Get A Bite To Eat. But There Was Always Another Page After That One, And Another After That, And Another Book Waiting Underneath The Pile. I'll Just Take A Quick Peek To See What This One Is About, He'd Think, And Before He Knew He Would Be Halfway Through It.

Why Should Death Make A Man Truthful, Or Even Clever? The Dead Are Likely Dull Fellows, Full Of Tedious Complaints - The Ground's Too Cold, My Gravestone Should Be Larger, Why Does He Get More Worms Than I Do.

A Fair Bargain Leaves Both Sides Unhappy.

I've Said In Many Interviews That I Like My Fiction To Be Unpredictable. I Like There To Be Considerable Suspense.

Of Course You Know Him. Everyone Knows A Pear-shaped Man.