A man always finds it hard to realize that he may have finally lost a woman's love, however badly he may have treated her.
I love Sherlock Holmes. I've got all his books, leather-bound. What I thought was great about Sherlock Holmes was that not only was he a supersleuth, he was also a hard worker. Not only did he go out and solve the crimes, he came home and wrote it all down. Fantastic. That's why I admire him.
It has always seemed to me that so long as you produce your dramatic effect, accuracy of detail matters little. I have never striven for it and I have made some bad mistakes in consequence. What matter if I hold my readers?
It is a pity he did not write in pencil. As you have no doubt frequently observed, the impression usually goes through - a fact which has dissolved many a happy marriage.
Amazing, really, to think of what a man could achieve with the simple ability to put pen to paper and spin a decent yarn.
Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention?'
'To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.'
'The dog did nothing in the night-time.'
'That was the curious incident,' remarked Sherlock Holmes.
I undid the wrappings with great curiosity, for Holmes did not normally give gifts. I opened the dark velvet jewller's box and found inside a shiny new set of picklocks, a younger version of his own. "Holmes, ever the romantic. Mrs. Hudson would be pleased.
It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers.
. . . and meanwhile take my assurance that the clouds are lifting and that I have every hope that the light of truth is breaking through
we are two like-minded creatures too well-matched, both equal halves of a whole not altogether wholesome
It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but that you are a conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius have a remarkable power of stimulating it.
Show Holmes a drop of water and he would deduce the existence of the Atlantic. Show it to me and I would look for a tap. That was the difference between us.
There is nothing more to be said or to be done tonight, so hand me over my violin and let us try to forget for half an hour the miserable weather and the still more miserable ways of our fellowmen.
Because it is my desire. Is that not enough?"
[Sherlock Holmes on his raison d'être.]
My correspondence has certainly the charm of variety, and the humbler are usually the more interesting. This looks like one of those unwelcome social summonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie.
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