The Invisible Man

by H.G. Wells

“If a man was made of glass he would still be visible.”

a sort of skeleton of light.

So little suffices to make us visible one to the other. For the most part the fibres of a living creature are no more opaque than water.”

It was late at night,—in the daytime one was bothered with the gaping, silly students,—and I worked then sometimes till dawn.

In all my great moments I have been alone.

“To do such a thing would be to transcend magic.

to make myself a strange and terrible thing.

would be to become grotesquely visible again.”

Every crossing was a danger, every passenger a thing to watch alertly.

I was so unnerved by this encounter that I went into Covent Garden Market and sat down for some time in a quiet corner by a stall of violets,

you’re not fool enough to dance on the old strings.

You don’t blame me?” “I never blame anyone,” said Kemp. “It’s quite out of fashion.

There a man might always be invisible—and yet live.

“I made a mistake, Kemp, a huge mistake, in carrying this thing through alone. I have wasted strength, time, opportunities. Alone—it is wonderful how little a man can do alone! To rob a little, to hurt a little, and there is the end.

This invisibility, in fact, is only good in two cases: It’s useful in getting away, it’s useful in approaching. It’s particularly useful, therefore, in killing.