Murder weapon and scene of the crime all at once! Ha ha, oh, this case, Henry. Thank you.

I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. I like to mix things up. Genes, mostly. Now and again, actual fingers.

— Poor Bluebell had to go.
— Your compassion is overwhelming!
— I know. I hate myself sometimes.

— Oh, John, I envy you so much.
— You envy me?
— Your mind, it's so placid, straight-forward, barely used. Mine's like an engine, racing out of control. A rocket, tearing itself to pieces, trapped on the launch pad. I need a case!

— He has told me about all his oldest friends. Which one are you?
— A new one.

— It's the strange place, the Hollow. It makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid.
— Yes, if I wanted poetry, I'd read John's emails to his girlfriends, much funnier.

People say there's no such thing as coincidence. Dull lives they must lead.

— I would love to tell you, but then, of course, I'd have to kill you.
— That would be tremendously ambitious of you.

— It's not in the rules.
— Well, then, the rules are wrong!

If people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we'd know. It'd be for sale. I mean, that's how it works.

I knew what effect it had had on a superior mind, so I needed to try it on an average one.

— You're showing off!
— I am a show-off, that's what we do.

— Something happened to me last night, something I'm not experienced before.
— Yes, you said. Fear, Sherlock Holmes got scared, you said.
— It was more than that, John. It was doubt. I felt doubt. I always been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night.