I go to London and see the busy multitudes in Fleet Street and the Strand, and it comes across my mind that they are but the ghosts of the past, haunting the streets that I have seen silent and wretched, going to and fro, phantasms in a dead city, the mockery of life in a galvanized body.
H. G. Wells, The War of the Worlds
The further I penetrated into London, the profounder grew the stillness. But it was not the stillness of death—it was the stillness of suspense, of expectation.
H. G. Wells, The War of the Worlds
I think everyone expected to see a man emerge—possibly something a little unlike us terrestrial men, but in all essentials a man. I know I did. But, looking, I presently say something stirring withing the shadow: greyish billowy movements, one above another, and then two luminous discs—like eyes.
H. G. Wells, The War of the Worlds
I had uttered prayers, fetish prayers, had prayed as heathens mutter charms when I was in extremity; but now I prayed indeed, pleading steadfastly and sanely, face to face with the darkness of God.
H. G. Wells, The War of the Worlds