It Is The Brain, The Little Gray

The Detective's Highest Talent Lay In The Gentle Art Of Seeking Favours Under The Guise Of Conferring Them!

I Looked At Her. Sheila Was My Girl--the Girl I Wanted--and Wanted For Keeps. But It Wasn't Any Use Having Illusions About Her. Sheila Was A Liar And Probably Always Would Be A Liar. It Was Her Way Of Fighting For Survival--the Quick Easy Glib Denial. It Was A Child's Weapon--and She'd Probably Never Got Out Of Using It. If I Wanted Sheila, I Must Accept Her As She Was--be At Hand To Prop Up The Weak Places. We've All Got Our Weak Places. Mine Were Different From Sheila's, But They Were There.

In My End Is My Beginning - That's What People Are Always Saying. But What Does It Mean?

Love Is Not Everything ... It Is Only When We Are Young That We Think It Is.

Imagination Is A Good Servant, And A Bad Master.