The Invisible Man

by H.G. Wells

A door onbust is always open to bustin’, but ye can’t onbust a door once you’ve busted en.”

All men, however highly educated, retain some superstitious inklings.

I could not go abroad in snow—it would settle on me and expose me. Rain, too, would make me a watery outline, a glistening surface of a man—a bubble. And fog—I should be like a fainter bubble in a fog, a surface, a greasy glimmer of humanity.