Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel-piece, and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist, all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally, he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined armchair with a long sigh of satisfaction.

It was easier to know it than to explain why I know it. If you were asked to prove that two and two made four, you might find some difficulty, and yet you are quite sure of the fact. ~ Sherlock Holmes

It is quite a three-pipe problem.

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

Life, it turns out, is infinitely more clever and adaptable than anyone had ever supposed.

It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers.

That which is clearly known hath less terror than that which is but hinted at and guessed.