Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks.
More Quotes from Arthur Doyle:
A man loses his fortune he gains earnestness. His eyesight goes it leads him to a spirituality. The girl loses her beauty she becomes more sympathetic. We think we are pushing our own way bravely, but there is a great Hand in ours all the time.Arthur Doyle
You know my powers, my dear Watson, and yet at the end of three months I was forced to confess that I had at last met an antagonist who was my intellectual equal. My horror at his crimes was lost in my admiration at his skill.
Arthur Doyle
Too much Wait till you have lived here longer. Look down the valley See the cloud of a hundred chimneys that overshadows it I tell you that the cloud of murder hangs thicker and lower than that over the heads of the people. It is the Valley of Fear, the Valley of Death. The terror is in the hearts of the people from the dusk to the dawn. Wait, young man, and you will learn for yourself.
Arthur Doyle
What the deuce is it to me he interrupted impatiently you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work.
Arthur Doyle
Why should people ever take credit for charity when they must know that they cannot gain as much pleasure out of their guineas in any other fashion
Arthur Doyle
It was a September evening, and not yet seven o'clock, but the day had been a dreary one, and a dense drizzly fog lay low upon the great city. Mud-colored clouds drooped sadly over the muddy streets. Down the Strand the lamps were but misty splotches of diffused light which threw a feeble circular glimmer upon the slimy pavement. The yellow glare from the shop-windows streamed out into the steamy, vaporous air, and threw a murky, shifting radiance across the crowded thoroughfare. There was, to my mind, something eerie and ghost-like in the endless procession of faces which flitted across these narrow bars of light,--sad faces and glad, haggard and merry. Like all human kind, they flitted from the gloom into the light, and so back into the gloom once more.
Arthur Doyle
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