Herbert Wells

in­can­des­cent

There is no dif­fer­ence between Time and any of the three di­men­sions of Space ex­cept that our con­scious­ness moves along it.

“Stop here,” said I; “you are safe here;” and I star­ted off at once for the Spot­ted Dog, for I knew the land­lord had a horse and dog cart. I ran, for I per­ceived that in a mo­ment every­one upon this side of the hill would be mov­ing. I found him in his bar, quite un­aware of what was go­ing on be­hind his house. A man stood with his back to me, talk­ing to him

be­wil­der­ing

And we men, the creatures who in­habit this Earth, must be to them at least as alien and lowly as are the mon­keys and lemurs to us.

And be­fore we judge of them too harshly we must re­mem­ber what ruth­less and ut­ter de­struc­tion our own spe­cies has wrought, not only upon an­im­als, such as the van­ished bison and the dodo, but upon its in­ferior races

Few people real­ise the im­mens­ity of va­cancy in which the dust of the ma­ter­ial uni­verse swims

if Time is really only a fourth di­men­sion of Space, why is it, and why has it al­ways been, re­garded as some­thing dif­fer­ent? And why can­not we move in Time as we move about in the other di­men­sions of Space?”

d caressed us rather than sub­mit­ted to be sat upon, and there was that lux­uri­ous after-din­ner at­mo­sphere when thought roams grace­fully free of the tram­mels of pre­ci­sion. And he put it to us in this way—mark­ing the points with a lean fore­finger—as we sat and lazily ad­mired his earn­est­ness over this new para­dox (as we th

knit­ting his brows, he lapsed into an in­tro­spect­ive state, h