So complex is the human spirit that it can itself scarce discern the deep springs which impel it to action.

All right, Watson. Don’t look so scared,” he muttered in a very weak voice. “It’s not as bad as it seems.” “Thank God for that!” “I’m a bit of a single-stick expert, as you know. I took most of them on my guard. It was the second man that was too much for me.” “What can I do, Holmes? Of course, it was that damned fellow who set them on. I’ll go and thrash the hide off him if you give the word.” “Good old Watson!(...)

It’s every man’s business to see justice done.

My mind rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram, or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation.

The great bell of Beaulieu was ringing. Far away through the forest might be heard its musical clangor and swell.

I have already explained to you that what is out of the common is usually a guide rather than a hindrance.

When you have one of the first brains of Europe up against you, and all the powers of darkness at his back, there are infinite possibilities.