Jealousy is a strange transformer of characters.

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.

Now, Watson,” said Holmes, as a tall dog-cart dashed up through the gloom, throwing out two golden tunnels of yellow light from its side lanterns. “You’ll come with me, won’t you?” “If I can be of use.” “Oh, a trusty comrade is always of use; and a chronicler still more so. My room at The Cedars is a double-bedded one.

Violence recoils on the violent.

...while the individual man is an insoluble puzzle, in the aggregate he becomes a mathematical certainty.

You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles.

What a lovely thing a rose is!