H. G. Wells

Losing your way on a journey is unfortunate. But, losing your reason for the journey is a fate more cruel.

This has ever been the fate of energy in security; it takes to art and to eroticism, and then comes languor and decay.

If you are in difficulties with a book, try the element of surprise: attack it at an hour when it isn't expecting it.

I write as straight as I can, just as I walk as straight as I can, because that is the best way to get there.

It may be that we exist and cease to exist in alternations, like the minute dots in some forms of toned printing or the succession of pictures on a cinema film. It may be that reality is an illusion of movement in an eternal, static, multidimensional universe. We may be only a story written on the ground of the inconceivable; the pattern on a rug beneath the feet of the incomprehensible.

The man was running away with the rest, and selling his papers for a shilling each as he ran—a grotesque mingling of profit and panic.

It is possible to believe that all the past is but the beginning of a beginning, and that all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn. It is possible to believe that all the human mind has ever accomplished is but the dream before the awakening.