The Eyre Affair

Don’t ever call me mad, Mycroft. I’m not mad. I’m just...well, differently moraled, that’s all.

“It was a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Neither do I. That’s a coincidence, isn’t it?”

Like any other big government department, it looks good on paper but is an utter shambles. Petty infighting and political agendas, arrogance and sheer bloody-mindedness almost guarantees that the left hand doesn’t know what the right is doing.

You’ve got a face longer than a Dickens novel.

The industrial age had only just begun; the planet had reached its Best Before date.

“It’s easy. A lobotomized monkey could do it.”

“And where are we going to find a lobotomized monkey at this time of night?”