No Man Lives Or Has Ever Lived

If I Had Never Touched Holmes, Who Has Tended To Obscure My Higher Work, My Position In Literature Would At The Present Moment Be A More Commanding One.

Sherlock Holmes Took His Bottle From The Corner Of The Mantel-piece, And His Hypodermic Syringe From Its Neat Morocco Case. With His Long, White, Nervous Fingers He Adjusted The Delicate Needle, And Rolled Back His Left Shirt-cuff. For Some Little Time His Eyes Rested Thoughtfully Upon The Sinewy Forearm And Wrist, All Dotted And Scarred With Innumerable Puncture-marks. Finally, He Thrust The Sharp Point Home, Pressed Down The Tiny Piston, And Sank Back Into The Velvet-lined Armchair With A Long Sigh Of Satisfaction.

I Consider That A Man's Brain Originally Is Like A Little Empty Attic, And You Have To Stock It With Such Furniture As You Choose.

It Is Decreed By A Merciful Nature That The Human Brain Cannot Think Of Two Things Simultaneously . . .

Life Is Infinitely Stranger Than Anything Which The Mind Of Man Could Invent.