I Am A Brain, Watson. The Rest

It's A Wicked World, And When A Clever Man Turns His Brain To Crime It Is The Worst Of All.

The Great Bell Of Beaulieu Was Ringing. Far Away Through The Forest Might Be Heard Its Musical Clangor And Swell.

The Weak Man Becomes Strong When He Has Nothing, For Then Only Can He Feel The Wild, Mad Thrill Of Despair.

If I Could Be Assured Of Your Destruction, I Would In The Interest Of The Public, Cheerfully Accept My Death.

Every Man Finds His Limitations, Mr. Holmes, But At Least It Cures Us Of The Weakness Of Self-satisfaction.