Summary

Portrait of Arthur Conan Doyle Arthur Conan Doyle The Stark Munro Letters — HOME. 30th March… (1895)

Cullingworth used to squat upon a pile of yearly volumes of the British Medical Journal in the corner. I can see him now levering himself up from his lowly seat, and striding about the room roaring and striking with his hands, while his little wife sat mum in the corner, listening to him with love and admiration in her eyes. What did we care, any one of the three of us, where we sat or how we lived, when youth throbbed hot in our veins, and our souls were all aflame with the possibilities of life?
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Arthur Conan Doyle Arthur Conan Doyle The Stark Munro Letters — HOME. 30th March… (1895)

In my heart of hearts I hope and believe that old Cullingworth sees an opening for me either as his partner or in some other way. I always believed that he would turn up trumps, and make my fortune as well as his own. He knows that if I am not very quick or brilliant I am fairly steady and reliable. So that's what I've been working up to all along, Bertie, that to-morrow I go to join Cullingworth, and that it looks as if there was to be an opening for me at last.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Arthur Conan Doyle Arthur Conan Doyle The Stark Munro Letters — HOME. 30th March… (1895)

I don't pretend to know what genius is. Carlyle's definition always seemed to me to be a very crisp and clear statement of what it is NOT. Far from its being an infinite capacity for taking pains, its leading characteristic, as far as I have ever been able to observe it, has been that it allows the possessor of it to attain results by a sort of instinct which other men could only reach by hard work. In this sense Cullingworth was the greatest genius that I have ever known.
Source: Wikisource

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