Arthur Conan Doyle · 1796 pages
Rating: (799 votes)
“I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation.”
“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.”
“His eyes kindled and a slight flush sprang into his thin cheeks. For an instant the veil had lifted upon his keen, intense nature, but for an instant only. When I glanced again his face had resumed that red-Indian composure which had made so many regard him as a machine rather than a man.”
“Well, really, this is a very pretty little mystery! What”
“In spite of his capacity for concealing his emotions, I could easily see that Holmes was in a state of suppressed excitement, while I was myself tingling with that half-sporting, half-intellectual pleasure which I invariably experienced when I associated myself with him in his investigations.”
“No data yet,” he answered. “It is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence. It biases the judgment.”
“when a man embarks upon a crime, he is morally guilty of any other crime which may spring from it.”
“When once the law is evoked it cannot be stayed again, and”
“She was on edge, feeling that she might snap or cry at the smallest provocation.”
“Lola?" Cricket is on his knees at the side of my bed. I feel it. "I'm here," he whispers. "You can talk to me or not talk to me, but I'm here.”
“I saw a picture of you and Vincent in a 1968 newspaper that said you died in a fire," I said, turning to Ambrose.
He nodded at me with a little smile, urging me on.
"So how can you be here now?"
"Well, I'm glad we're starting with the easy questions," he said, stretching his powerful arms and then leaning toward me. "The answer would be ... because we're zombies!" and he let out a horrible groan, stretching his mouth open and baring his teeth as he curled his hands into claws.
Seeing my terrified expression, Ambrose began cracking up and slapping his knee with his hand. "Just kidding," he cackled, and then, calming down, looked at me sedately. "But no, seriously. We're zombies."
"We are not zombies!" said Charlotte, her voice rising with annoyance.”
“happiness is determined more by one’s state of mind than by external events.”
“She had discovered that her love of knowing was not unnatural or sinful but the direct consequence of a God-given ability to reason.”
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