Arthur Conan Doyle
Arthur Conan Doyle
Sir Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle KStJ, DLwas an Irish-Scots writer and physician, most noted for creating the fictional detective Sherlock Holmes and writing stories about him which are generally considered milestones in the field of crime fiction...
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth22 May 1859
CityEdinburgh, Scotland
A change of work is the best rest.
real lying greatness
The chief proof of man's real greatness lies in his perception of his own smallness.
hands paper found
The Times is a paper which is seldom found in any hands but those of the highly educated.
taken wit
I have taken to living by my wits.
men better-man
I love and am loved by a better man than he.
community criminals fortunate
It is fortunate for this community that I am not a criminal.
world spirit window
There was something awesome in the thought of the solitary mortal standing by the open window and summoning in from the gloom outside the spirits of the nether world.
men natural-talent names
There are no crimes and no criminals in these days. What is the use of having brains in our profession? I know well that I have it in me to make my name famous. No man lives or has ever lived who has brought the same amount of study and of natural talent to the detection of crime which I have done. And what is the result? There is no crime to detect, or, at most, some bungling villainy with a motive so transparent that even a Scotland Yard official can see through it.
men london quiet
I could not rest, Watson, I could not sit quiet in my chair, if I thought that such a man as Professor Moriarty were walking the streets of London unchallenged.
missed-you holmes ive-missed-you
Oh how I've missed you, Holmes.
men may realizing
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.
circles answers paper
What is the meaning of it, Watson? said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever.
laughter laughing laugh-often
He burst into one of his rare fits of laughter as he turned away from the picture. I have not heard him laugh often, and it has always boded ill to somebody.
beautiful eye years
To his eyes all seemed beautiful, but to me a tinge of melancholy lay upon the countryside, which bore so clearly the mark of the waning year, Yellow leaves carpeted the lanes and fluttered down upon us as we passed, The rattle of our wheels died away as we drove through drifts of rotting vegetation--sad gifts, as it seemed to me, for Nature to throw before the carriage of the returning heir of the Baskervilles.