Education never ends, Watson. It is a series of lessons, with the greatest for the last.
You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go...
Women have seldom have been an attraction to me, for my brain has always governed my heart.
What is the use of having powers, Doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert them? Crime is commonplace, existence is commonplace, and no qualities save those which are commonplace have any fun...
Nothing could exceed his energy when the working fit was upon him: but now and again a reaction would seize him, and for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting- room, hardly uttering a...
It's every man's business to see justice done.
I love and am loved by a better man than he.
That any civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth traveled round the sun appeared to me to be such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it.‘You...
One must wait till it comes.
It is, I admit, mere imagination; but how often is imagination the mother of truth?
Como a las polillas, a todos nos gusta revolotear en torno a la luz.
The sweat from his dripping brow. But these slaves—look at them! Some are captured Romans, some Sicilians, many black Libyans, but all are in the last exhaustion, their weary eyelids drooped over thei...
The unexpected has happened so continually in my life that it has ceased to deserve the name.
Leaning back in the cab, this amateur bloodhound carolled away like a lark while I mediated upon the many-sidedness of the human mind.
Evil indeed is the man without one woman to mourn him.
Populus me sibilat at mihi plaudo ipse domi simul ac nummos contemplar in arca
Well, well, my dear fellow, be it so. We have shared this same room for some years, and it would be amusing if we ended by sharing the same cell. (...)
The Frenchman sat up with that strange energy which comes often as the harbinger of death. (...) This I tell you - I, Raoul de la Roche Pierre de Bras, dying upon the field of honour. And now kiss me,...
If my future were black, it was better surely to face it like a man than to attempt to brighten it by mere will-o'-wisps of the imagination.
There is a mystery about this which stimulates the imagination; where there is no imagination there is no horror.