Arthur Conan Doyle

I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life.

As a rule, the more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious it proves to be.

There is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace.

"I think I had better go, Holmes."

It was difficult to refuse any of Sherlock Holmes’ requests, for they were always so exceedingly definite, and put forward with such a quiet air of mastery.

"You are Holmes, the meddler."

My friend smiled.

"Holmes, the busybody!"

His smile broadened.

"Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!"

Holmes chuckled heartily.

Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generations, and leading to the most outre results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable.

On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. You fail, however, to reason from what you see. You are too timid in drawing your inferences.

"Data! Data! Data!" he cried impatiently. "I can't make bricks without clay."

There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.

"When a doctor does go wrong he is the first of criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge."

I had no idea that such individuals exist outside of stories.