Jealousy Is A Strange Transformer Of Characters.

I Rose To Go, But Holmes Caught Me By My Wrist And Pushed Me Back Into My Chair. 'it Is Both, Or None,' Said He. 'you May Say Before This Gentleman Anything Which You May Say To Me.

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.

Depend Upon It, There Is Nothing So Unnatural As The Commonplace.

There Is A Soul-jealousy That Can Be As Frantic As Any Body-jealousy.

I Cannot Live Without Brainwork. What Else Is There To Live For? Stand At The Window Here. Was Ever Such A Dreary, Dismal, Unprofitable World? See How The Yellow Fog Swirls Down The Street And Drifts Across The Duncoloured Houses. What Could Be More Hopelessly Prosaic And Material?