H.G. Wells

The thing before you is no longer an animal, a fellow-creature, but a problem! Sympathetic pain - all I know of it I remember as a thing I used to suffer from years ago. I have forgotten its quality.

I saw nothing, but I heard a voice somewhere cry, 'Not that! Not that!'

I found the hot stream broadened out to a shallow, weedy sand, in which an abundance of crabs and long-bodied, many-legged creatures started from my footfall.

I could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his process of deduction.

Then Moreau began to speak, not to me, but to his companion.

The thing was still clothed, and at a distance its face still seemed human; but the carriage of its four limbs was feline, and the furtive droop of its shoulder was distinctly that of a hunted animal.

I had no leisure to examine the room in which I was left alone; I only noticed that its furnishings were ordinary, and that the same woman was still in the same place, behind the chair she had occupied when we entered.

I heard a stealthy footstep and, looking up just in time, saw him peering in at the tumbled heap and holding an old-fashioned revolver in his hand.

I saw something crouching in a clump of bushes. I worked my way to the bushes, and then went round to the other side to get a view of it.

This too, I have learned from the river: everything is coming and going; every day, every night, everything is coming and going.

The persistence of the thing meant so much.

It was an altogether too insignificant matter for the servant to raise a fuss about.