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.
Evil indeed is the man who has not one woman to mourn him.
Even the best of us are thrown off some- times.
You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles.
The good Watson had at that time deserted me for a wife, the only selfish action I can recall in our association. I was alone.
Violence recoils on the violent.