The germs of disease have taken toll of humanity since the beginning of things... to no germs do we succumb without a struggle.
Not to go on all-fours; that is the Law. Are we not Men? “Not to suck up Drink; that is the Law. Are we not Men? “Not to eat Fish or Flesh; that is the Law. Are we not Men? “Not to claw the Bark of Trees; that is the Law. Are we not Men? “Not to chase other Men; that is the Law. Are we not Men?” And.
I had half a mind to drown myself then; but an odd wish to see the whole adventure out, a queer, impersonal, spectacular interest in myself, restrained me.
I hope, or I could not live. And so, in hope and solitude, my story ends.
Crime is to foresee and do.
And strangest of all is it to hold my wife’s hand again, and to think that I have counted her, and that she has counted me, among the dead.
Yet so vain is man, and so blinded by his vanity, that no writer, up to the very end of the nineteenth century, expressed any idea that intelligent life might have developed there far, or indeed at all, beyond its earthly level.
The fact is, the Time Traveller was one of those men who are too clever to be believed.
And I tell you, pleasure and pain have nothing to do with heaven and hell.
These germs of disease have taken toll of humanity since the beginning of things... But by virtue of this natural selection of our kind we have developed resisting power; to no germs do we succumb without a struggle...
For that moment I touched an emotion beyond the common range of men, yet one that the poor brutes we dominate know only too well... I felt the first inkling of a thing that grew quite presently clear in my mind, that oppressed me for many days, a sense of dethronement, a persuasion that I was no longer a master, but an animal among the animals, under the Martian heel. With us it would be as with them, to lurk and watch, to run and hide; the fear and empire of man had passed away.
I have withdrawn myself from the confusion of cities and multitudes, and spend my days surrounded by wise books, bright windows in this life of ours, lit by the shining souls of men.
But there are legions of poor souls, haunted by crime, or crushed beneath the weight of sorrow, whose one prayer would be, if such a thing were possible, that their past might be blotted out; that they might be free to begin life anew, with no memories dogging their steps like spectres, threatening at every turn to work their undoing.
Most people in this world seem to live “in character”; they have a beginning, a middle, and an end, and the three are congruous one with another and true to the roles of their type.
Its triumph had not been simply a triumph over Nature, but a triumph over Nature and the fellow-man.
We will peck them to death tomorrow, my dear.
Martians – dead! – slain by the putrefactive and disease bacteria against which their systems were unprepared; slain as the red weed was being slain; slain, after all man’s devices had failed, by the humblest things that God, in his wisdom, has put upon this earth.
Here these fools-I’m trying to conquer a new element-trying to do a thing that will revolutionise life. And instead of taking an intelligent interest, they grin and make their stupid jokes, and call me and my appliances names.
A fire,” he cried, “in the name of human charity! A room and a fire!
You’ll learn,” the blind man answered. “There is much to learn in the world.