Irene Adler Quotes

To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen.... And yet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory.

To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex…there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory.

To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex.

And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a woman’s wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman.

Sherlock: You’re exaggerating. It didn’t happen that often. (in relation to Irene Adler’s texts) John: 57 times in the run up to Christmas. Your pocket was moaning more than Mrs Hudson. Sherlock: Thank you for that mental image.

Bohemya Krallığı'nı tehdit eden büyük bir skandalın ve Sherlock Holmes'un bir kadının zekasına yenilmesinin hikayesiydi bu. O günden beri bir daha kadınların zekasıyla ilgili espriler yaptığını duymadım. Ayrıca Irene Adler'den veya fotoğrafından her zaman övgüyle söz etti.

Brainy is the new sexy.

Life is seldom about the destination, Sherlock,” smiled Irene. “It’s about the journey.

Have you ever had anyone? And when I say "had", I'm being indelicate.

Winning is nothing unless the opponent is worthy

He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman.

To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer—excellent for drawing the veil from men’s motives and actions. But for the trained

To Sherlock Holmes she is always THE woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer—excellent for drawing the veil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory.

Hello, Miss Adler. Irene Adler. Wow,” he said, his voice hushed. “This is so weird.

Y, cuando habla de Irene Adler, o se refiere a su fotografía, utiliza siempre el honorable título de <>.

Irene Adler,

And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman.

we are two like-minded creatures too well-matched, both equal halves of a whole not altogether wholesome

Have you ever had someone? And when I say "had", I'm being indelicate.

To Sherlock Holmes she is always

And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a woman’s wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman.

Irene took a sip of coffee. “Ahhh!” she said, almost involuntarily. “I really, really needed that.” She turned back to Lucinda. “All right, tell me about your father. Your earthly father.” “I have no father anymore,” said Lucinda. “He has sinned, grievously he has sinned. He has consorted with demons, and surely the Lord will send him down to perdition.” “What the hell does that mean?” asked Diana. “Hush,” said Mary. “You haven’t even finished what’s on your plate. Are you Diana, or some sort of doppelgänger? Because the Diana I know doesn’t leave food uneaten.” “Go to hell,” said Diana, but she said it under her breath and stuffed her mouth with a poppy-seed roll.

MARY: Cat, should you be writing all this? I mean, Irene still lives in Vienna. Her secret room won’t be a secret once this book is published. CATHERINE: She said I could. Granted, she said no one would believe it anyway, the way no one believes Mrs. Shelly’s biography of Victor Frankenstein. Everyone assumes it’s fiction. She says people rarely believe in what they think to be improbable, although they often believe in the impossible. They find it easier to believe in spiritualism than in the platypus. BEATRICE: So she thinks our readers might assume this is a work of fiction? CATHERINE: Bea, you sound upset by that. BEATRICE: And you are not? Do you not care whether readers understand that this is the truth of our lives? CATHERINE: As long as they buy the book, no, not much. As long as they pay their two shillings a volume, and I receive royalties . . .

Dr. Freud said he would like to see me again,” she said, finally. “I just bet he would!” Irene laughed. “He collects beetles of all sorts, and you resemble a gray beetle that seems ordinary, but shine a light on it and it begins to shimmer like an opal—blue and green, all cool colors for you, I think. You know, when all of you had just arrived here, I admired your self-control. Here you were in a strange country, determined to rescue a woman you didn’t know from a danger you didn’t understand, all because a friend had asked you to. You were tired from a long journey, yet there you were, coolly making plans. Then later I realized it wasn’t self-control at all—it’s simply the way you are, like Sherlock. He can’t help it either. When there’s a problem to be solved, he sits down and solves it: rationally, efficiently.” Mary opened her mouth to protest. “I don’t mean that you’re emotionless, my dear. I just mean that your emotions are, themselves, efficient, rational. Please don’t misunderstand me—I admire you very much and I would like to be your friend. But you remind me of Sherlock more than anyone I’ve ever met.” “I think that’s a compliment?” said Mary. “I mean, I find him dreadfully aggravating, sometimes. . . .” “Don’t we all!

To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind.

I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I can reward you. This ring--" He slipped an emerald snake ring from his finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand. "Your Majesty has something which I should value even more highly," said Holmes. "You have but to name it." "This photograph!" The King stared at him in amazement. "Irene's photograph!" he cried. "Certainly, if you wish it." "I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the matter. I have the honour to wish you a very good-morning." He bowed, and, turning away without observing the hand which the King had stretched out to him, he set off in my company for his chambers. And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a woman's wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman.

Chicas haciendo deporte. A este paso, ¿adónde vamos a ir a parar, Horace, adónde?

Murder before impropriety! ... It never fails to shock me--what a properly brought-up Englishwoman will condone to ensure her blessed propriety.

A less outlandish school of thought holds that Holmes had married Irene Adler—the beautiful opera singer from “A Scandal in Bohemia” who was, famously, one of the few persons ever to outwit the detective

All right,” said Mary. “When do you want us to leave?” “As soon as Diana changes back into women’s clothes,” said Irene. “Why?” asked Diana, outraged. “I don’t want to.” “Because you’re supposed to be neurasthenic and hysterical. No one will question that diagnosis in a girl going through puberty.” “Puberty yourself!” said Diana, then whispered to Hannah, “That’s a dirty word, isn’t it? I’m pretty sure that’s a dirty word.

This is magnificent,” said Justine. “I’ve never seen anything like it. But I can’t make out the artist’s name?” “It’s by a friend of mine,” said Irene. “His name is not known outside of Vienna, but it will be—I think someday soon, all of Europe will be talking about Gustav Klimt. I was the model for this one. I don’t know if you can see the resemblance.

Tonight, I ask, on behalf of Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Wales, will you do what no other young women are called to do, and place your lives and honor at the feet of your country?

Roger Leggett