The Future Was With Fate. The Present

How Sweet The Morning Air Is! See How That One Little Cloud Floats Like A Pink Feather From Some Gigantic Flamingo. Now The Red Rim Of The Sun Pushes Itself Over The London Cloud-bank. It Shines On A Good Many Folk, But On None, I Dare Bet, Who Are On A Stranger Errand Than You And I. How Small We Feel With Our Petty Ambitions And Strivings In The Presence Of The Great Elemental Forces Of Nature!

If In 100 Years I Am Only Known As The Man Who Invented Sherlock Holmes Then I Will Have Considered My Life A Failure.

...it Was A Huge Creature, Luminous, Ghastly, And Spectral. I Have Cross-examined These Men, One Of Them A Hard-headed Countryman, One A Farrier, And One A Moorland Farmer, Who All Tell The Same Story Of This Dreadful Apparition, Exactly Corresponding To The Hell-hound Of The Legend. I Assure You That There Is A Reign Of Terror In The District, And That It Is A Hardy Man Who Will Cross The Moor At Night.

To All The World He Was The Man Of Violence, Half Animal And Half Demon; But To Her He Always Remained The Little Wilful Boy Of Her Own Girlhood, The Child Who Had Clung To Her Hand. Evil Indeed Is The Man Who Has Not One Woman To Mourn Him.

A Man Always Finds It Hard To Realize That He May Have Finally Lost A Woman's Love, However Badly He May Have Treated Her.