"What a lovely thing a rose is!"
He (Sherlock Holmes) walked past the couch to the open
window and held up the drooping stalk of a moss–rose, looking down at the
dainty blend of crimson and green. It was a new phase of his character to
me, for I had never before seen him show any keen interest in natural
objects.
"There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as
in religion," said he, leaning with his back against the shutters. "It can
be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of
the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other
things, our powers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for
our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell
and its color are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is
only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to
hope from the flowers."