It is not my intention to be fulsome, but I confess that I covet your skull.

Was it hardness, was it selfishness, that she should ask me to risk my life for her own glorification? Such thoughts may come to middle age; but never to ardent three-and-twenty in the fever of his first love.

The grand thing is to be able to reason backwards.

My mind rebels at stagnation, give me problems, give me work!

There seems to me to be absolutely no limit to the inanity and credulity of the human race. Homo Sapiens! Homo idioticus!

I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routine of daily life.

I have taken to living by my wits.