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--- QUOTES [0 / 0 - 23 / 23] (in Dictionaries, in Quotes, in Chapters)

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NEW FULL DB (2.4M)

   6 H G Wells

   3 Neil Gaiman

   2 Harlan Ellison

   2 Dmitry Glukhovsky

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:Our bodies are the time machine. ~ Rudy Rucker

2:The Time Machine was left deserted on the turf among the rhododendrons. ~ H G Wells

3:Have you read Wells’ The Time Machine? Well, there they had these Morlocks . . . ~ Dmitry Glukhovsky

4:Were you always like this?” “Like what?” “A madman. With a time machine.” “Oh, no. It took ages until I got the time machine. ~ Neil Gaiman

5:Were you always like this?’ ‘Like what?’ ‘A madman. With a time machine.’ ‘Oh, no. It took ages until I got the time machine. ~ Neil Gaiman

6:We will become as pale and sick as Wells’ Morlocks. Remember them? From The Time Machine where beasts of the future lived underground? ~ Dmitry Glukhovsky

7:The time machine in Back to the Future was originally going to be a fridge; it was changed to a car in case it encouraged children to climb into fridges. ~ John Lloyd

8:My mom makes a pot of coffee and sits on the couch primly rereading The Time Machine with what I guess you could call passive-aggressive literary exasperation. ~ Elan Mastai

9:Nature never appeals to intelligence until habit and instinct are useless. There is no intelligence where there is no need of change.” The Time Machine — H.G. Wells ~ Anonymous

10:Félix J. Palma, author of the New York Times bestselling The Map of Time, inspired by H.G. Wells’s The Time Machine, concludes his time-travel Victorian trilogy with a mesmerizing new novel, The Map of Chaos ~ Arthur Conan Doyle

11:He, I know - for the question had been discussed among us long before the Time Machine was made - thought but cheerlessly of the Advancement of Mankind, and saw in the growing pile of civilisation only a foolish heaping that must inevitably fall back upon and destroy its makers in the end. ~ H G Wells

12:I think that at that time none of us quite believed in the Time Machine. The fact is, the Time Traveller was one of those men who are too clever to be believed: you never felt that you saw all round him; you always suspected some subtle reserve, some ingenuity in ambush, behind his lucid frankness ~ H G Wells

13:I think that at that time none of us quite believed in the Time Machine. The fact is, the Time Traveler was one of those men who are too clever to be believed: you never felt that you saw all round him; you always suspected some subtle reserve, some ingenuity in ambush, behind his lucid frankness. Had Filby shown the model and explained the matter in the Time Traveller's words, we should have shown him far less skepticism. For we should have perceived his motives; a pork butcher could understand Filby. ~ H G Wells

14:The passion for revenge should never blind you to the pragmatics of the situation. There are some people who are so blighted by their past, so warped by experience and the pull of that silken cord, that they never free themselves of the shadows that live in the time machine... And if there is a kind thought due them, it may be found contained in the words of the late Gerald Kersh, who wrote:"... there are men whom one hates until a certain moment when one sees, through a chink in their armour, the writhing of something nailed down and in torment. ~ Harlan Ellison

15:The passion for revenge should never blind you to the pragmatics of the situation. There are some people who are so blighted by their past, so warped by experience and the pull of that silken cord, that they never free themselves of the shadows that live in the time machine... And if there is a kind thought due them, it may be found contained in the words of the late Gerald Kersh, who wrote:"... there are men whom one hates until a certain moment when one sees, through a chink in their armour, the writhing of something nailed down and in torment. ~ Harlan Ellison

16:Herbert George Wells, better known as H. G. Wells, was an English writer best known for such science fiction novels as The Time Machine, The War of the Worlds, The Invisible Man and The Island of Doctor Moreau. He was a prolific writer of both fiction and non-fiction, and produced works in many different genres, including contemporary novels, history, and social commentary. He was also an outspoken socialist. His later works become increasingly political and didactic, and only his early science fiction novels are widely read today. Wells, along with Hugo Gernsback and Jules Verne, is sometimes referred to as "The Father of Science Fiction". Source: Wikipedia ~ H G Wells

17:I saw Gert. The time machine took me back to a few years ago, the Yorkes’ house… and there she was. On the phone, organizing a protest against… the usual.” “You talk to her?” “You nuts? She’s fourteen—what do I say? ‘Hey, in a few years you’re gonna find out your parents are evil time-traveling overlords and help kill them, fall in love with the dumbest guy you know and than eat it ‘cause he’s too slow to protect you?’” “You could’ve brought her back…” “Butterfly effect, remember? Yeah, I looked it up. ‘Sides she had a few good years left. Which is more than I can promise with us. I just hid. Watched her for a while.” “Was it hard?” “It was f#%&ing beautiful. ~ Joss Whedon

18:The landscape was misty and vague. I was still on the hill-side upon which this house now stands, and the shoulder rose above me grey and dim. I saw trees growing and changing like puffs of vapour, now brown, now green; they grew, spread, shivered, and passed away. I saw huge buildings rise up faint and fair, and pass like dreams. The whole surface of the earth seemed changed—melting and flowing under my eyes. The little hands upon the dials that registered my speed raced round faster and faster. Presently I noted that the sun belt swayed up and down, from solstice to solstice, in a minute or less, and that consequently my pace was over a year a minute; and minute by minute the white snow flashed across the world, and vanished, and was followed by the bright, brief green of spring.” ―The Time Machine, ~ H G Wells

19:THE DAY THE SAUCERS CAME “That day, the saucer day the zombie day The Ragnarok and fairies day, the day the great winds came And snows, and the cities turned to crystal, the day All plants died, plastics dissolved, the day the Computers turned, the screens telling us we would obey, the day Angels, drunk and muddled, stumbled from the bars, And all the bells of London were sounded, the day Animals spoke to us in Assyrian, the Yeti day, The fluttering capes and arrival of the Time Machine day, You didn’t notice any of this because you were sitting in your room, not doing anything not even reading, not really, just looking at your telephone, wondering if I was going to call. ~ Neil Gaiman

20:Contemporary culture is a two-tiered system, like the Morlocks and the Eloi in H.G. Wells's The Time Machine, except that it's been turned upside down. In The Time Machine the Eloi were an effete upper class, supported by lots of subterranean Morlocks who kept the technological wheels turning. But in our world it's the other way round. The Morlocks are in the minority, and they are running the show, because they understand how everything works. The much more numerous Eloi learn everything they know from being steeped from birth in electronic media directed and controlled by book-reading Morlocks. So many ignorant people could be dangerous if they got pointed in the wrong direction, and so we've evolved a popular culture that is (a) almost unbelievably infectious and (b) neuters every person who gets infected by it, by rendering them unwilling to make judgments and incapable of taking stands. ~ Neal Stephenson

21:Is that what we do? We pitch our tents, do our little clown shows, and then take off up the road to the next town ahead? Leaving our science-fictional debris on the blasted dirt to poison the minds of future generations, like the alien litter in STALKER and ROADSIDE PICNIC. Flying cars rusting out like Saturn Five rockets propped up as roadkill talismans at Kennedy, leaking toxins into the soil. Jetpacks oozing fuel from cracks in their tanks and poisoning the grass. Three-ring moonbases crumbling in the solar wind. Birdshit on the time machines. Big fat rats scavenging broken packs of food capsules, Best Before Date of 1971. A Westinghouse Robot Smoking Companion, vintage of 1931, slumped up against a tree, tin fingers still twitching for a cigarette. Vines growing through a busted cyberspace deck. The shreds of inflatable furniture designed for the space hospitals of 1955. Lizards perched atop a weather control cannon. Atomic batteries mouldering inside the grips of laser pistols abandoned in the weeds. ~ Warren Ellis

22:Kral Majales (King Of May) And the Communists have nothing to offer but fat cheeks and eyeglasses and lying policemen and the Capitalists proffer Napalm and money in green suitcases to the Naked, and the Communists create heavy industry but the heart is also heavy and the beautiful engineers are all dead, the secret technicians conspire for their own glamour in the Future, in the Future, but now drink vodka and lament the Security Forces, and the Capitalists drink gin and whiskey on airplanes but let Indian brown millions starve and when Communist and Capitalist assholes tangle the Just man is arrested or robbed or has his head cut off, but not like Kabir, and the cigarette cough of the Just man above the clouds in the bright sunshine is a salute to the health of the blue sky. For I was arrested thrice in Prague, once for singing drunk on Narodni street, once knocked down on the midnight pavement by a mustached agent who screamed out BOUZERANT, once for losing my notebooks of unusual sex politics dream opinions, and I was sent from Havana by planes by detectives in green uniform, and I was sent from Prague by plane by detectives in Czechoslovakian business suits, Cardplayers out of Cezanne, the two strange dolls that entered Joseph K's room at morn also entered mine and ate at my table, and examined my scribbles, and followed me night and morn from the houses of the lovers to the cafes of Centrum And I am the King of May, which is the power of sexual youth, and I am the King of May, which is long hair of Adam and Beard of my own body and I am the King of May, which is Kral Majales in the Czechoslovakian tongue, and I am the King of May, which is old Human poesy, and 100,000 people chose my name, and I am the King of May, and in a few minutes I will land at London Airport, and I am the King of May, naturally, for I am of Slavic parentage and a Buddhist Jew 51 who whorships the Sacred Heart of Christ the blue body of Krishna the straight back of Ram the beads of Chango the Nigerian singing Shiva Shiva in a manner which I have invented, and the King of May is a middleeuropean honor, mine in the XX century despite space ships and the Time Machine, because I have heard the voice of Blake in a vision and repeat that voice. And I am the King of May that sleeps with teenagers laughing. And I am the King of May, that I may be expelled from my Kingdom with Honor, as of old, To show the difference between Caesar's Kingdom and the Kingdom of the May of Man and I am the King of May because I touched my finger to my forehead saluting a luminous heavy girl trembling hands who said 'one moment Mr. Ginsberg' before a fat young Plainclothesman stepped between our bodies - I was going to England and I am the King of May, in a giant jetplane touching Albion's airfield trembling in fear as the plane roars to a landing on the gray concrete, shakes & expels air, and rolls slowly to a stop under the clouds with part of blue heaven still visible. And tho' I am the King of May, the Marxists have beat me upon the street, kept me up all night in Police Station, followed me thru Springtime Prague, detained me in secret and deported me from our kingdom by airplane. This I have written this poem on a jet seat in mid Heaven. ~ Allen Ginsberg

23:Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty) Consider a girl who keeps slipping off, arms limp as old carrots, into the hypnotist's trance, into a spirit world speaking with the gift of tongues. She is stuck in the time machine, suddenly two years old sucking her thumb, as inward as a snail, learning to talk again. She's on a voyage. She is swimming further and further back, up like a salmon, struggling into her mother's pocketbook. Little doll child, come here to Papa. Sit on my knee. I have kisses for the back of your neck. A penny for your thoughts, Princess. I will hunt them like an emerald. Come be my snooky and I will give you a root. That kind of voyage, rank as a honeysuckle. Once a king had a christening for his daughter Briar Rose and because he had only twelve gold plates he asked only twelve fairies to the grand event. The thirteenth fairy, her fingers as long and thing as straws, her eyes burnt by cigarettes, her uterus an empty teacup, arrived with an evil gift. She made this prophecy: The princess shall prick herself on a spinning wheel in her fifteenth year 33 and then fall down dead. Kaputt! The court fell silent. The king looked like Munch's Scream Fairies' prophecies, in times like those, held water. However the twelfth fairy had a certain kind of eraser and thus she mitigated the curse changing that death into a hundred-year sleep. The king ordered every spinning wheel exterminated and exorcised. Briar Rose grew to be a goddess and each night the king bit the hem of her gown to keep her safe. He fastened the moon up with a safety pin to give her perpetual light He forced every male in the court to scour his tongue with Bab-o lest they poison the air she dwelt in. Thus she dwelt in his odor. Rank as honeysuckle. On her fifteenth birthday she pricked her finger on a charred spinning wheel and the clocks stopped. Yes indeed. She went to sleep. The king and queen went to sleep, the courtiers, the flies on the wall. The fire in the hearth grew still and the roast meat stopped crackling. The trees turned into metal and the dog became china. They all lay in a trance, each a catatonic stuck in a time machine. 34 Even the frogs were zombies. Only a bunch of briar roses grew forming a great wall of tacks around the castle. Many princes tried to get through the brambles for they had heard much of Briar Rose but they had not scoured their tongues so they were held by the thorns and thus were crucified. In due time a hundred years passed and a prince got through. The briars parted as if for Moses and the prince found the tableau intact. He kissed Briar Rose and she woke up crying: Daddy! Daddy! Presto! She's out of prison! She married the prince and all went well except for the fear the fear of sleep. Briar Rose was an insomniac... She could not nap or lie in sleep without the court chemist mixing her some knock-out drops and never in the prince's presence. If if is to come, she said, sleep must take me unawares while I am laughing or dancing so that I do not know that brutal place where I lie down with cattle prods, the hole in my cheek open. Further, I must not dream for when I do I see the table set and a faltering crone at my place, her eyes burnt by cigarettes as she eats betrayal like a slice of meat. 35 I must not sleep for while I'm asleep I'm ninety and think I'm dying. Death rattles in my throat like a marble. I wear tubes like earrings. I lie as still as a bar of iron. You can stick a needle through my kneecap and I won't flinch. I'm all shot up with Novocain. This trance girl is yours to do with. You could lay her in a grave, an awful package, and shovel dirt on her face and she'd never call back: Hello there! But if you kissed her on the mouth her eyes would spring open and she'd call out: Daddy! Daddy! Presto! She's out of prison. There was a theft. That much I am told. I was abandoned. That much I know. I was forced backward. I was forced forward. I was passed hand to hand like a bowl of fruit. Each night I am nailed into place and forget who I am. Daddy? That's another kind of prison. It's not the prince at all, but my father drunkeningly bends over my bed, circling the abyss like a shark, my father thick upon me like some sleeping jellyfish. What voyage is this, little girl? 36 This coming out of prison? God help this life after death? ~ Anne Sexton

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