Work Is The Best Antidote

It Is The Sweetest Spring Within The Memory Of Man. So Green, So Mild, So Beautiful! Ah, What A Contrast Between Nature Without And My Own Soul So Torn With Doubt And Terror!

Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Who Was Usually Very Late In The Mornings, Save Upon Those Not Infrequent Occasions When He Was Up All Night, Was Seated At The Breakfast Table. I Stood Upon The Hearth-rug And Picked Up The Stick Which Our Visitor Had Left Behind Him The Night Before.

There Is No Satisfaction In Vengeance Unless The Offender Has Time To Realize Who It Is That Strikes Him, And Why Retribution Has Come Upon Him.

You Know How Easily And Suddenly These Things Happen, Beginning In Playful Teasing And Ending In Something A Little Warmer Than Friendship. You Squeeze The Slender Arm Which Is Passed Through Yours, You Venture To Take The Little Gloved Hand, You Say Good Night At Absurd Length In The Shadow Of The Door. It Is Innocent And Very Interesting, Love Trying His Wings In A First Little Flutter.

So Complex Is The Human Spirit That It Can Itself Scarce Discern The Deep Springs Which Impel It To Action.