A Quote by Arthur Conan Doyle

Have you tried to drive a harpoon through a body? No? Tut, tut, my dear sir, you must really pay attention to these details. — © Arthur Conan Doyle
Have you tried to drive a harpoon through a body? No? Tut, tut, my dear sir, you must really pay attention to these details.
She must have Egyptian blood. Every time I try to kiss her she says, "Tut, Tut!"
You're thinking about something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk. I can't tell you just now what the moral of that is, but I shall remember it in a bit." "Perhaps it hasn't one," Alice ventured to remark. "Tut, tut, child!" said the Duchess. "Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it.
Tut, tut. We can't let mere sentiment intrude. This is Science.
Tut, tut — fame clearly isn't everything.
Tut, Tut, looks like rain
And what? What's the other choice? To passively let things happen and then say: "Tut-tut, what at botch that was"? Don't we all manipulate people? Even if we openly ask them to make a choice, don't we try to frame it so they'll chose as we think they should?
Writing a good movie brings a writer about as much fame as steering a bicycle. It gets him, however, more jobs. If his movie is bad it will attract only critical tut-tut for him. The producer, director and stars are the geniuses who get the hosannas when it's a hit. Theirs are also the heads that are mounted on spears when it's a flop.
Wait until France gets a hard shot in the nose. Wait until France reacts with some nasty work. They'll get a golf-clap from the chattering class over here and a you-go-girl from Red America. France could nuke an Algerian terrorist camp and the rest of the world would tut-tut for a day, then ask if the missiles France used were for sale. And of course the answer would be oui.
I previously played King Tut's in Glasgow, which is one of my favourite gigs. It's really intimate.
"Why, I don't exactly know about perjury, my dear sir," replied the little gentleman. "Harsh word, my dear sir, very harsh word indeed. It's a legal fiction, my dear sir, nothing more."
The mummy's curse really didn't catch on as a premise until they opened Tut's tomb. But it is true that there are spells, and incantations, and warnings on some of the pharaoh's tombs that do promise destruction to anyone who disrupts their eternal sleep, so there is precedence for it.
Our problems started in Dallas, when the fire-breathing sheep destroyed the King Tut exhibit.
I was in Las Vegas, and there was a exhibit of King Tut's tomb, and it was an audio tour. At the very end of that, I just thought it would be a really cool structure for a novel, but I just didn't have a story to go along with it.
When I die, now don't think that I'm a nut, don't want no fancy funeral, just one like old King Tut.
From the simplest lyric to the most complex novel and densest drama, literature is asking us to pay attention. Pay attention to the frog. Pay attention to the west wind. Pay attention to the boy on the raft, the lady in the tower, the old man on the train. In sum, pay attention to the world and all that dwells therein and thereby learn at last to pay attention to yourself and all that dwells therein.
My daughters have become little judges. If I do produce a baked item, they tut at the soggy bottom and advise me to try harder next time.
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