Japanese novelist Tarō Hirai wrote detective fiction under the pseudonym Edogawa Rampo.
That’s a phonetic rendering of one of the genre’s inventors — Edgar Allan Poe.
Japanese novelist Tarō Hirai wrote detective fiction under the pseudonym Edogawa Rampo.
That’s a phonetic rendering of one of the genre’s inventors — Edgar Allan Poe.
A puzzle by Lewis Carroll:
A bag contains one counter, known to be either white or black. A white counter is put in, the bag shaken, and a counter drawn out, which proves to be white. What is now the chance of drawing a white counter?
This is U.S. patent number 112, “saddle for removing the sick and for other purposes,” issued in 1837 to the magnificently named Hezekiah Thistle of New Orleans.
The patient (or body) lies on a bed mounted on springs above the wooden saddle. “There is also a strap G attached to the side of the bed near the center which passes around the thigh and is buckled to the outside of the bed in an oblique direction to prevent the wounded man from slipping down.”
Even the horse looks grim.
“Lawyers are the only persons in whom ignorance of the law is not punished.” — Jeremy Bentham
Letter to the Times, March 23, 1973:
Sir,
I would be most grateful if I could pass on the following to you and your readers before the bloom goes from it.
I have just stepped out of a cab in which I travelled through London with a starry-eyed taxi driver. I had hardly got into the cab when he looked at me and said: ‘D’you mind guvnor if I tell you something? I have just been at the airport at Heathrow and there, suddenly, this Frenchman comes up to me carrying a magnificent bunch of flowers in his hand. Gosh, you should have seen it guvnor, and he hands it to me and says, “Taxi, if I pay you double fare, will you take these flowers and give them to your Queen?” And I looks at him as if he was mad and he says to me: “Now look taxi, I am serious; are you on or are you not?” And what do you think I did?’
‘What did you do?’ I asked him.
‘Cor, I couldn’t let ‘im and ‘er down, so I just come from the bleeding Palace.’
Yours truly,
Laurens van der Post
Suspect A has shot a man through the heart during the last half minute. But Suspect B shot him through the heart during the preceding 1/4 minute, Suspect C shot him through the heart during the 1/8 minute before that, and so on. Assuming that a bullet through the heart kills a man instantly, the victim must already have been dead before any given suspect shot him.
Indeed, notes José Benardete, he cannot be said to have died of a bullet wound.
A correspondent of the Manchester Sporting Chronicle, thinking that his horse was short-sighted, had his eyes examined by an oculist, who certified that the horse had a No. 7 eye and required concave glasses. These were obtained and fitted on to the horse’s head. At first the horse was a little surprised, but rapidly showed signs of the keenest pleasure, and he now stands all the morning looking over the half-door of his stable with his spectacles on, gazing around him with an air of sedate enjoyment. When driven his manner is altogether changed from his former timidity; but if pastured without his spectacles on, he hangs about the gate whinnying in a plaintive minor key. If the spectacles are replaced he kicks up his heels and scampers up and down the pasture with delight.
A puzzle by Henry Dudeney:
A lady is accustomed to buy from her greengrocer large bundles of asparagus, each twelve inches in circumference. The other day the man had no large bundles in stock, but handed her instead two small ones, each six inches in circumference. “That is the same thing,” she said, “and, of course, the price will be the same.” But the man insisted that the two bundles together contained more than the large one, and charged a few pence extra. Which was correct — the lady or the greengrocer?
“There’s really nothing an agnostic can’t do if he really doesn’t know whether he believes in anything or not.” — Graham Chapman
Help me be MANIC so I may be joyous though the results are equivocal.
Help me be DEPRESSIVE for when a prediction is verified, I must know that it will not later be confirmed.
Help me be SADISTIC so I suffer not though the subjects be sorely anguished.
Help me be MASOCHISTIC for even the most obstinate experimental animal should be a pleasure to me.
Help me be PSYCHOPATHIC to quiet the guilt when I tell loved ones that the experiment is going well.
Help me be SCHIZOPHRENIC to sustain myself by finding hopeful trends in random data.
Help me be PARANOID so I can see in the hostile attitudes of others the supremacy of my own work.
Help me to have ANXIETY ATTACKS so that even on holidays I find myself toiling in the laboratory.
And finally,
Help my wife get a job! for when I cross over the shadowy border of normalcy, somebody will have to support the kids. Amen.
— R.A McCleary in the Worm Runner’s Digest, November 1960