It Is All In The Way Of

I Am An Omnivorous Reader With A Strangely Retentive Memory For Trifles.

To His Eyes All Seemed Beautiful, But To Me A Tinge Of Melancholy Lay Upon The Countryside, Which Bore So Clearly The Mark Of The Waning Year, Yellow Leaves Carpeted The Lanes And Fluttered Down Upon Us As We Passed, The Rattle Of Our Wheels Died Away As We Drove Through Drifts Of Rotting Vegetation--sad Gifts, As It Seemed To Me, For Nature To Throw Before The Carriage Of The Returning Heir Of The Baskervilles.

Do You Know, Watson," Said He, "that It Is One Of The Curses Of A Mind With A Turn Like Mine That I Must Look At Everything With Reference To My Own Special Subject. You Look At These Scattered Houses, And You Are Impressed By Their Beauty. I Look At Them, And The Only Thought Which Comes To Me Is A Feeling Of Their Isolation And Of The Impunity With Which Crime May Be Committed There.

I Have Wrought My Simple Plan If I Give One Hour Of Joy To The Boy Who’s Half A Man, Or The Man Who’s Half A Boy.

It Was An Ideal Spring Day, A Light Blue Sky, Flecked With Little Fleecy White Clouds Drifting Across From West To East. The Sun Was Shining Very Brightly, And Yet There Was An Exhilarating Nip In The Air, Which Set An Edge To A Man's Energy.