When A Doctor Does Go Wrong He

Draw Your Chair Up, And Hand Me My Violin, For The Only Problem Which We Have Still To Solve Is How To While Away These Bleak Autumnal Evenings.

Life, My Dear Watson, Is Infinitely Stranger Than Fiction; Stranger Than Anything Which The Mind Of Man Could Invent. We Could Not Conceive The Things That Are Merely Commonplace To Existence. If We Could Hover Over This Great City, Remove The Roofs, And Peep In At The Things Going On, It Would Make All Fiction, With Its Conventionalities And Foreseen Conclusions Flat, Stale And Unprofitable.

What A Lovely Thing A Rose Is!

Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Who Was Usually Very Late In The Mornings, Save Upon Those Not Infrequent Occasions When He Was Up All Night, Was Seated At The Breakfast Table. I Stood Upon The Hearth-rug And Picked Up The Stick Which Our Visitor Had Left Behind Him The Night Before.

It Is A Mistake To Confound Strangeness With Mystery. The Most Commonplace Crime Is Often The Most Mysterious Because It Presents No New Or Special Features From Which Deductions May Be Drawn. This Murder Would Have Been Infinitely More Difficult To Unravel Had The Body Of The Victim Been Simply Found Lying In The Roadway Without Any Of Those Outré And Sensational Accompaniments Which Have Rendered It Remarkable. These Strange Details, Far From Making The Case More Difficult, Have Really Had The Effect Of Making It Less So.