The Beetle quotes

He banged the door in my face.

That was the final blow.

To have tramped about all day looking for work; to have begged even for a job which would give me money enough to buy a little food; and to have tramped and to have begged in vain—that was bad.

Or should I push my researches further? It would have been rapture to have thrown off my clothes, and to have sunk down, on the carpet, then and there, to sleep. But—

I was so hungry; so famine-goaded; what would I not have given to have lighted on something good to eat!

I moved a step or two forward, gingerly, reaching out with my hands, lest I struck, unawares, against some unseen thing.

that I had passed it by; that I had not come through the window; that I were safely out of it again.

I became, on a sudden, aware, that something was with me in the room.

There was nothing, ostensible, to lead me to such a conviction; it may be that my faculties were unnaturally keen; but, all at once, I knew that there was something there. What was more, I had a horrible persuasion that, though unseeing, I was seen;

I had heard how cats’ eyes gleam in the dark, though I had never seen them, and I said to myself that these were cats’ eyes; that the thing in front of me was nothing but a cat. But I knew I lied.

I knew that these were eyes, and I knew they were not cats’ eyes, but what eyes they were I did not know⁠—nor dared to think.

They moved—towards me. The creature to which the eyes belonged was coming closer. So intense was my desire to fly that I would much rather have died than stood there still; yet I could not control a limb;

The mouth, with its blubber lips, came immediately underneath the nose, and chin, to all intents and purposes, there was none. This deformity—for the absence of chin amounted to that—it was which gave to the face the appearance of something not human—that, and the eyes.

For so marked a feature of the man were his eyes, that, ere long, it seemed to me that he was nothing but eyes.

His eyes ran, literally, across the whole of the upper portion of his face—remember, the face was unwontedly small, and the columna of the nose was razor-edged.

I was aware of the extinction of the lamp, and of the black darkness which ensued. I heard a rustling sound, as if the man in the bed was settling himself between the sheets. Then all was still.

And throughout that interminable night I remained, my brain awake, my body dead, waiting, watching, for the day.

What had happened to me I could not guess. That I probably wore some of the external evidences of death my instinct told me—I knew I did.

But I was not to be stopped. Cliff Challoner passed, with Gerty Cazell. I fancy that, as he passed, he nodded. I did not care. I was wound up to go, and I went it.

No man knows how he can talk till he does talk⁠—to the girl he wants to marry.

It is my impression that I gave her recollections of the Restoration poets. She seemed surprised—not having previously detected in me the poetic strain, and insisted on cutting in.

which is, emphatically, not mine. But to think of him in connection with such a girl as Marjorie Lindon—preposterous! Why, the man’s as dry as a stick—drier! And cold as an iceberg.

Nothing but a politician, absolutely.

He a lover!—how I could fancy such a stroke of humour setting all the benches in a roar. Both by education, and by nature, he was incapable of even playing such a part; as for being the thing—absurd!

“I wondered if he had. Poor fellow! more sinned against than sinning!

Take my advice, Atherton, and keep out of politics. They bring you into contact with all the lunatics at large.

Good night! I am much obliged to you for knocking us up. Matthews, shut the door.”

“Take my advice, don’t appreciate any man too highly.

In the book of every man’s life there is a page which he would wish to keep turned down.

”

“How is it hard?

Who is against the husband can hardly be for the wife⁠—when the husband and the wife are one.

”

“I will give you all the sympathy you stand in need of—I promise it! My poor, dear Sydney!—don’t be so absurd! Do you think that I don’t know you?

You’re the best of friends, and the worst of lovers

—as the one, so true; so fickle as the other. To my certain knowledge, with how many girls have you been in love—and out again.

He raised his head a little. A look came into his eyes which I felt that I ought to understand, yet to the meaning of which I seemed, for the instant, to have mislaid the key. I shrugged my shoulders.

“I have come because you wanted me.”

“Because I wanted you!—On my word!—That’s sublime!”

“And, pray, what is the common feeling which we have for him?”

Plainly, with this gentleman, hate meant hate⁠—in the solid Oriental sense.

I should hardly have been surprised if the mere utterance of the words had seared his lips.

At last I did as she wished me.

At least, there is no harm in praying⁠—I never heard of its bringing hurt to anyone.

I repeated aloud the Lord’s Prayer—the first time for I know not how long. As the divine sentences came from my lips, hesitatingly enough, I make no doubt, her tremors ceased. She became calmer.

“Is it?—Forgive me if I say, I doubt it. I doubt if, of any wise man, that can be said with truth.

In all our lives there are episodes which we keep to ourselves.

”

“

When a man has to resort to alcohol to keep his nerves up to concert pitch, things are in a bad way with him, you may be sure of that⁠—but then you have never known what it is to stand in momentary expectation of a tête-à-tête with the devil.

”

I am the happiest woman in the world!

I wonder how many women have said that of themselves in their time—but I am. Paul has told me that he loves me. How long I have made inward confession of my love for him, I should be ashamed to say.

This is the result of Paul’s wish that our engagement should not be announced.

He is afraid of papa;⁠—not really, but for the moment.

The atmosphere of the House is charged with electricity. Party feeling runs high. They are at each other, hammer and tongs, about this Agricultural Amendment Act. The strain on Paul is tremendous. I am beginning to feel positively concerned.

in others—I will not write fool, for that he never is, though he has often done some extremely foolish things. The fame of his inventions is in the mouths of all men; though the half of them has never been told.

He is the most extraordinary mixture. The things which most people would like to have proclaimed in the street, he keeps tightly locked in his own bosom; while those which the same persons would be only too glad to conceal, he shouts from the roofs.

A very famous man once told me that if Mr. Atherton chose to become a specialist, to take up one branch of inquiry, and devote his life to it, his fame, before he died, would bridge the spheres.

He is papa’s particular fetish. I am not sure that he does regard him as being any lower than the angels, but if he does it is certainly something in decimals. My suggestion seemed as outrageous to him as his suggestion seemed to me.

But it is papa’s misfortune that he can only see one side of a question⁠—and that’s his own.

“You—you dare to compare Lord Cantilever to—to that—that—that—!”

the wonder is I did not die! I felt it coming nearer and nearer, inch by inch; I knew that it was upon me, that escape there was none; I felt something touch my hair.

And then oblivion did come to my aid. For the first time in my life I swooned.

I have been anticipating for some weeks past, that things would become exciting⁠—and they have.

But hardly in the way which I foresaw. It is the old story of the unexpected happening. Suddenly events of the most extraordinary nature have come crowding on me from the most unlooked-for quarters.

I have been anticipating for some weeks past, that things would become exciting—and they have. But hardly in the way which I foresaw.

It is the old story of the unexpected happening.

Suddenly events of the most extraordinary nature have come crowding on me from the most unlooked-for quarters.

“

I’d sooner be absurd than a fool in petticoats.

” I was so angry that I did not know what to say—and before I could say it he went on. “Keep your eyes and ears well open; be surprised at nothing you see or hear. Stick close to me.

When I discovered what it actually was covered with, I was conscious of a disagreeable sense of surprise.

It was covered with beetles!

All over it, with only a few inches of space between each, were representations of some peculiar kind of beetle—it was the same beetle, over, and over, and over.

The words echoed through the house. Only silence answered. He led the way to the front room. Suddenly he stopped.

“Hollo!” he cried. “The blind’s down!”

I had noticed, when we were outside, that the blind was down at the front room window. “It was up when I went, that I’ll swear. That someone has been here is pretty plain—let’s hope it’s Marjorie.”

“Is that the meaning of the marks upon your neck?”

“The beetle killed me.”

The lids closed. The man relapsed into a state of lethargy. The Inspector was puzzled;—and said so.

Now he opened them, wide; there came into them the former staring horror. He became possessed by uncontrollable agitation—half raising himself in bed. Words came from his quivering lips as if they were only drawn from him by the force of his anguish.

“The beetle’s going to kill Miss Lindon.”

A momentary paroxysm seemed to shake the very foundations of his being. His whole frame quivered. He fell back on to the bed—ominously. The doctor examined him in silence—while we too were still.