There Is Nothing Like First-hand Evidence.

Well, I'm A Bacteriologist, You Know. I Live In A Nine-hundred-diameter Microscope. I Can Hardly Claim To Take Serious Notice Of Anything That I Can See With My Naked Eye.

I Have Seen Too Much Not To Know That The Impression Of A Woman May Be More Valuable Than The Conclusion Of An Analytical Reasoner.

Just See How It Glints And Sparkles. Of Course It Is A Nucleus And Focus Of Crime. Every Good Stone Is. They Are The Devil

...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.

I Cannot Live Without Brainwork. What Else Is There To Live For? Stand At The Window Here. Was Ever Such A Dreary, Dismal, Unprofitable World? See How The Yellow Fog Swirls Down The Street And Drifts Across The Duncoloured Houses. What Could Be More Hopelessly Prosaic And Material?