We are always getting away from the present moment.
It’s like that with some people,′ he said; ’whenever I got into the examination-room or anywhere everything seemed to go.
It continued to swear with that breadth and variety that distinguishes the swearing of a cultivated man.
I ceased even to breathe. It was ridiculous, of course, but you know that ghost-story feeling.
Bless my soul alive!
And this spreading usurpation of the world was so dexterously performed – a proteus – hundreds of banks, companies, syndicates, masked the Council’s operations – that it was already far advanced before common men suspected the tyranny that had come. The.
I’ve never really planned my life or set out to live. I happened; things happened to me. It’s so with everyone.
As if there wasn’t a thousand things that were never heard.
There is no liberty save wisdom and self-control.
He seemed under a chronic irritation of the greatest intensity. His habit of talking to himself in a low voice grew steadily upon him, but though Mrs. Hall listened conscientiously she could make neither head nor tail of what she heard.
Take it as a lie – or a prophecy. Say I dreamed it in the workshop. Consider I have been speculating upon the destinies of our race until I have hatched this fiction.
But the Time Traveller had more than a touch of whim among his elements, and we distrusted him.
He walked with just such a limp as I have seen in footsore tramps.
The sojers’ll stop ’em,” said a woman beside me, doubtfully. A haziness rose over the treetops.
It was all a monstrous payment for courageous fiction, a gratuity in return for the one reality of human life – illusion. We gave them a feeling of hope and profit; we sent a tidal wave of water and confidence into their stranded affairs... Civilization is possible only through confidence, so that we can bank our money and go unarmed about the streets.
Another of those fools,” said Dr. Kemp. “Like that ass who ran into me this morning round a corner, with the ‘’Visible Man a-coming, sir!’ I can’t imagine what possess people. One might think we were in the thirteenth century.
Three-Dimensional representations of his Four-Dimensioned being, which is a fixed and unalterable thing.
That won’t do,” said the policeman; “that’s murder.” “I know what country I’m in,” said the man with the beard. “I’m going to let off at his legs. Draw the bolts.
What’s it all for, Prendick? Are we bubbles blown by a baby?
What did it matter, since it was unreality, all of it, the pain and desire, the beginning and the end? There was no reality except this solitary road, this quite solitary road, along which on went rather puzzled, rather tired...