You Are My Heart, My Life, My

Still, It Is An Error To Argue In Front Of Your Data. You Find Yourself Insensibly Twisting Them Round To Fit Your Theories.

I Have Heard, Mr. Holmes, That You Can See Deeply Into The Manifold Wickedness Of The Human Heart.

Now, Watson,” Said Holmes, As A Tall Dog-cart Dashed Up Through The Gloom, Throwing Out Two Golden Tunnels Of Yellow Light From Its Side Lanterns. “you’ll Come With Me, Won’t You?” “if I Can Be Of Use.” “oh, A Trusty Comrade Is Always Of Use; And A Chronicler Still More So. My Room At The Cedars Is A Double-bedded One.

To The Man Who Loves Art For Its Own Sake, It Is Frequently In Its Least Important And Lowliest Manifestations That The Keenest Pleasure Is To Be Derived.

We Must Look For Consistency. Where There Is A Want Of It We Must Suspect Deception.