If I Could Be Assured Of Your

I Know, My Dear Watson, That You Share My Love Of All That Is Bizarre And Outside The Conventions And Humdrum Routine Of Daily Life.

My Life Is Spent In One Long Effort To Escape From The Commonplaces Of Existence. These Little Problems Help Me To Do So.

I Cannot Live Without Brainwork. What Else Is There To Live For

Clouds Of Insects Danced And Buzzed In The Golden Autumn Light, And The Air Was Full Of The Piping Of The Song-birds. Long, Glinting Dragonflies Shot Across The Path, Or Hung Tremulous With Gauzy Wings And Gleaming Bodies.

What Is The Meaning Of It, Watson? Said Holmes Solemnly As He Laid Down The Paper. "what Object Is Served By This Circle Of Misery And Violence And Fear? It Must Tend To Some End, Or Else Our Universe Is Ruled By Chance, Which Is Unthinkable. But What End? There Is The Great Standing Perennial Problem To Which Human Reason Is As Far From An Answer As Ever.