Quotes About Mystery

We're at close grips at last, said Holmes as we walked together across the moor. What a nerve the fellow has! How he pulled himself together in the face of what must have been a paralyzing shock when he found that the wrong man had fallen a victim to his plot. I told you in London, Watson, and I tell you now again, that we have never had a foeman more worthy of our steel.

Holmes," I cried, "this is impossible." "Admirable!" he said. "A most illuminating remark. It IS impossible as I state it, and therefore I must in some respect have stated it wrong.

Well Holmes, I murmured, have you found anything out? He stood beside me in silence, his candle in his hand. Then the tall, lean figure inclined towards me. I say, Watson, he whispered, would you be afraid to sleep in the same room with a lunatic, a man with softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip? Not in the least, I answered in astonishment. Ah, that's lucky, he said, and not another word would he utter that night.

This case deserves to be a classic.

The note was undated, and without either signature or address.

Suddenly the dreamer disappeared, and Holmes, the man of action, sprang from his chair.

There have," said I, "been numerous petty thefts." Holmes snorted his contempt. "This great and sombre stage is set for something more worthy than that," said he. "It is fortunate for this community that I am not a criminal.

A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and in the passage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there was a loud and authoritative tap.

I don't take much stock of detectives in novels - chaps that do things and never let you see how they do them. That's just inspiration: not business.

He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands together.

How long is this to last? asked the inspector finally. And what is it we are watching for? I have no more notion than you how long it is to last, Holmes answered with some asperity. If criminals would always schedule their movements like railway trains, it would certainly be more convenient for all of us.

The tragedy has been so uncommon, so complete and of such personal importance to so many people, that we are suffering from a plethora of surmise, conjecture, and hypothesis. The difficulty is to detach the framework of fact—of absolute undeniable fact—from the embellishments of theorists and reporters. Then, having established ourselves upon this sound basis, it is our duty to see what inferences may be drawn and what are the special points upon which the whole mystery turns.

Bohemya Krall???'n? tehdit eden büyük bir skandal?n ve Sherlock Holmes'un bir kad?n?n zekas?na yenilmesinin hikayesiydi bu. O günden beri bir daha kad?nlar?n zekas?yla ilgili espriler yapt???n? duymad?m. Ayr?ca Irene Adler'den veya fotoÄŸraf?ndan her zaman övgüyle söz etti.

life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We

On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic.

From within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, and old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty old disks of metal.

Holmes," I cried, "this is impossible." "Admirable!" he said. "A most illuminating remark. It IS impossible as I state it, and therefore I must in some respect have stated it wrong. Yet you saw for yourself. Can you suggest any fallacy?

Das Leben ist unendlich seltsamer als alles, was der menschliche Geist erfinden könnte.

I believe you are a wizard, Mr. Holmes.

Singularity is almost invariably a clue.

When will you be pleased to dine, Mr. Holmes?' Mrs. Hudson asked. 'Seven-thirty, the day after to-morrow' said he.

His conclusions were as infallible as so many propositions of Euclid. So startling would his results appear to the uninitiated that until they learned the processes by which he had arrived at them they might well consider him as a necromancer.

Could he throw no light?

Sherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to reply, when the door flew open, and Peterson, the commissionaire, rushed into the apartment with flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is dazed with astonishment. "The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!" he gasped. "Eh? What of it, then? Has it returned to life and flapped off through the kitchen window?" Holmes twisted himself round upon the sofa to get a fairer view of the man's excited face.