I Think That I Had

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

I Think That I Had Better Go, Holmes." "not A Bit, Doctor. Stay Where You Are. I Am Lost Without My Boswell.

Life, My Dear Watson, Is Infinitely Stranger Than Fiction; Stranger Than Anything Which The Mind Of Man Could Invent. We Could Not Conceive The Things That Are Merely Commonplace To Existence. If We Could Hover Over This Great City, Remove The Roofs, And Peep In At The Things Going On, It Would Make All Fiction, With Its Conventionalities And Foreseen Conclusions Flat, Stale And Unprofitable.

It Is Not My Intention To Be Fulsome, But I Confess That I Covet Your Skull.

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.