автордың кітабынан сөз тіркестері  The Time Machine (Project Gutenberg)

Herbert Wells

clad in a purple tunic

For after the battle comes Quiet.

So that it was the Psy­cho­lo­gist him­self who sent forth the model Time Machine on its in­ter­min­able voy­age.

on the quartz rod, and sat my­self in the saddle. I sup­pose a sui­cide who holds a pis­tol to his skull feels much the same won­der at what will come next as I felt then.

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.

he winked at me sol­emnly.

re­covered from his stupor

That is just where the whole world has gone wrong. We are al­ways get­ting away from the present mo­ment. Our men­tal ex­ist­ences, which are im­ma­ter­ial and have no di­men­sions, are passing along the Time-Di­men­sion with a uni­form ve­lo­city from the cradle to the grave.

and have even tried to con­struct a Four-Di­men­sion geo­metry. Pro­fessor Si­mon New­comb was ex­pound­ing this to the New York Mathem­at­ical So­ci­ety only a month or so ago.

There are really four di­men­sions, three which we call the three planes of Space, and a fourth, Time