Island Of Dr Moreau Quotes

I hope, or I could not live.

An animal may be ferocious and cunning enough, but it takes a real man to tell a lie.

I must confess that I lost faith in the sanity of the world

It is when suffering finds a voice and sets our nerves quivering that this pity comes troubling us.

There is, though I do not know how there is or why there is, a sense of infinite peace and protection in the glittering hosts of heaven.

Are we all bubbles blown by a baby?

The crying sounded even louder out of doors. It was as if all the pain in the world had found a voice

By this time I was no longer very much terrified or very miserable. I had, as it were, passed the limit of terror and despair. I felt now that my life was practically lost, and that persuasion made me capable of daring anything

But there are times when the little cloud spreads, until it obscures the sky. And those times I look around at my fellow men and I am reminded of some likeness of the beast-people, and I feel as though the animal is surging up in them. And I know they are neither wholly animal nor holy man, but an unstable combination of both.

My days I devote to reading and experiments in chemistry, and I spend many of the clear nights in the study of astronomy. There is, though I do not know how there is or why there is, a sense of infinite peace and protection in the glittering hosts of heaven. There it must be, I think, in the vast and eternal laws of matter, and not in the daily cares and sins and troubles of men, that whatever is more than animal within us must find its solace and its hope.

Not to go on all-Fours; that is the Law. Are we not Men?

I never yet heard of a useless thing that was not ground out of existence by evolution sooner or later. Did you? And pain gets needless.

You cannot imagine the strange colour-less delight of these intellectual desires.

There is still something in everything I do that defeats me, makes me dissatisfied, challenges me to further effort. Sometimes I rise above my level, sometimes I fall below it, but always I fall short of the things I dream.

There it must be, I think, in the vast and eternal laws of matter, and not in the daily cares and sins and troubles of men, that whatever is more than animal within us must find its solace and its hope. I hope, or I could not live.

It was not the first time that conscience has turned against the methods of research.

The sea was silent, the sky was silent; I was alone with the night and silence.

The peaceful splendour of the night healed again. The moon was now past the meridian and travelling down the west. It was at its full, and very bright, riding through the empty blue sky.

Very much indeed of what we call moral education is such an artificial modification and perversion of instinct; pugnacity is trained into courageous self-sacrifice, and suppressed sexuality into religious emotion.

And the great difference between man and monkey is in the larynx, he said, in the incapacity to frame delicately different sounding symbols by which thought could be sustained

Hunger and a lack of blood-corpuscles take all the manhood from a man.

Now they stumbled in the shackles of humanity, lived in a fear that never died, fretted by a law they could not understand; their mock-human existence began in an agony, was one long internal struggle, one long dread of Moreau - and for what? It was the wantonness that stirred me.

one of those pertinacious tempers that would warm every day to a white heat and never again cool to forgiveness.

Who breaks the Law -’ said Moreau, taking his eyes off his victim and turning towards us. It seemed to me there was a touch of exultation in his voice. ‘- goes back to the House of Pain,’ they all clamoured; ‘goes back to the House of Pain, O Master!

This mark men and women set on pleasure and pain, Prendick, is the mark of the beast upon them, the mark of the beast from which they came. Pain! Pain and pleasure - they are for us, only so long as we wriggle in the dust...

For it is just this question of pain that parts us. So long as visible or audible pain turns you sick; so long as your own pains drive you; so long as pain underlies your propositions about sin,—so long, I tell you, you are an animal, thinking a little less obscurely what an animal feels.

I perceived that I was hungry, and prepared to clamber out of the hammock which, very politely anticipating my intention, twisted round and deposited me upon the floor.

The crying sounded even louder out of doors. It was as if all the pain in the world had found a voice. Yet had I known such pain was in the next room, and had it been dumb, I believe—I have thought since—I could have stood it well enough. It is when suffering finds a voice and sets our nerves quivering that this pity comes troubling us. But in spite of the brilliant sunlight and the green fans of the trees waving in the soothing sea-breeze, the world was a confusion, blurred with drifting black and red phantasms, until I was out of earshot of the house in the stone wall.

A series of prohibitions called the Law - I had already heard them recited - battled in their minds with the deep-seated, ever-rebellious cravings of their animal natures. This Law they were perpetually repeating, I found, and - perpetually breaking.

What is your theologian's ecstasy but Mahomet's houri in the dark?

But, as I say, I was too full of excitement and (a true saying, though those who have never known danger may doubt it) too desperate to die.

They are mad; they are fools," said the Dog-man.

A strange persuasion came upon me that, save for the grossness of the line, save for the grotesqueness of the forms, I had here before me the whole balance of human life in miniature, the whole interplay of instinct, reason, and fate in its simplest form.

The ocean rose up around me, hiding that low, dark patch from my eyes. The daylight, the trailing glory of the sun, went streaming out of the sky, was drawn aside like some luminous curtain, and at last I looked into the blue gulf of immensity which the sunshine hides, and saw the floating hosts of stars. The sea was silent, the sky was silent. I was alone with the night and silence.

They had certain Fixed Ideas implanted by Moreau in their minds which absolutely bounded their imaginations. They really were hypnotized, had been told certain things were impossible, and certain things were not to be done, and these prohibitions were woven into the texture of their minds beyond any possibility of disobedience or dispute.

You're a solemn prig, Prendick, a silly ass! You're always fearing and fancying. We're on the edge of things. I'm bound to cut my throat tomorrow. I'm going to have a damned Bank Holiday tonight.

Had Moreau had any intelligible object, I could have sympathized at least a little with him. I am not so squeamish about pain as that. I could have forgiven him a little even, had his motive been only hate. But he was so irresponsible, so utterly careless! His curiosity, his mad, aimless investigations, drove him on; and the Things were thrown out to live a year or so, to struggle and blunder and suffer, and at last to die painfully.

Particularly nauseous were the blank expressionless faces of people in trains and omnibuses; they seemed no more my fellow-creatures than dead bodies would be, so that I did not dare to travel unless I was assured of being alone.

They were all intensely excited, and all overflowing with noisy expressions of their loyalty to the Law. Yet I felt an absolute assurance in my own mind that the Hyena-Swine was implicated in the rabbit-killing. A strange persuasion came upon me that, save for the grossness of the line, save for the grotesqueness of the forms, I had here before me the whole balance of human life in miniature, the whole interplay of instinct, reason, and fate in its simplest form.

I say I became habituated to the Beast People, that a thousand things which had seemed unnatural and repulsive speedly became natural an ordinary to me. I suppose everything in existence takes its colour from the average hue of our surroundings.

...and spend my days surrounded by wise books, - bright windows in this life of ours, lit by the shining souls of men.

And the great difference between man and monkey is in the larynx.

It's chance, I tell you,' he interrupted, ' as everything is in a man's life.

I hope, or I could not live. And so, in hope and solitude, my story ends.

And I tell you, pleasure and pain have nothing to do with heaven and hell.

Because this island is full of inimical phenomena.

And even it seemed that I too was not a reasonable creature, but only an animal tormented with some strange disorder in its brain which sent it to wander alone, like a sheep stricken with gid.

Children of the Law,’ I said, ‘he is not dead.’ M’ling turned his sharp eyes on me. ‘He has changed his shape - he has changed his body,’ I went on. ‘For a time you will not see him. He is.. there’ - I pointed upward - ‘where he can watch you. You cannot see him. But he can see you. Fear the Law.

There it must be, I think, in the vast and eternal laws of matter, and not in the daily cares and sins and troubles of men, that whatever is more than animal within us must find its solace and its hope. I hope, or I could not live.

In our growing science of hypnotism we find the promise of a possibility of replacing old inherent instincts by new suggestions, grafting upon or replacing the inherited fixed ideas. Very much indeed of what we call moral education is such an artificial modification and perversion of instinct ; pugnacity is trained into courageous self-sacrifice, and suppressed sexuality into religious emotion.

I, like balloon animal hacks everywhere, can only make one animal so far. It is a LEGO version of the Island of Dr. Moreau, wherein I have brick-engineered a pig-camel, a dog-camel, and a camel with wheels. These monstrosities are quickly torn apart, and I wonder if I have some unresolved camel issues.

...whatever is more than animal within us must find its solace and it's hope. I HOPE, or I would not live.

-¡Este estúpido mundo! -dijo-. ¡Qué complicado es todo! No he vivido hasta ahora. Me pregunto cuándo empezaré. Dieciséis años tiranizado por niñeras y maestros de escuela, sometido a su santa voluntad; cinco años en Londres estudiando medicina con ahínco: mala comida, alojamientos miserables, ropas raídas, vicios lamentables. Jamás conocí nada mejor. Luego, empujado a esta isla infernal... ¡Diez años aquí! ¿Y todo para qué, Prendick? ¿Somos como las pompas de jabón que soplan los niños?

It was some time before I could summon resolution to go down through the trees and bushes upon the flank of the headland to the beach. At last I did it at a run; and as I emerged from the thicket upon the sand, I heard some other body come crashing after me. At that I completely lost my head with fear, and began running along the sand. Forthwith there came the swift patter of soft feet in pursuit. I gave a wild cry, and redoubled my pace. Some dim, black things about three or four times the size of rabbits went running or hopping up from the beach towards the bushes as I passed.

Dört ayak üstüne inmemek; Kanun budur. Biz insan değil miyiz?” “Suyu emerek içmemek; Kanun budur. Biz insan değil miyiz?” “Balık ya da et yememek; Kanun budur. Biz insan değil miyiz?” “Ağaç kabuklarını tırmalamamak; Kanun budur. Biz insan değil miyiz?” “Başka insanları kovalamamak; Kanun budur. Biz insan değil miyiz?

haz ve acının cennet ve cehennemle hiçbir ilgisi yoktur. haz ve acı- pöh! karanlıkta, senin teoloğunun esrimesinin muhammet’in hurilerinden ne farkı vardır ki. erkekler ve kadınların haz ve acı üzerine kurdukları bu pazar onların üzerindeki hayvan damgasıdır. kendisinden geldikleri hayvanın onlar üzerindeki damgası. acı! acı ve haz, bunlar sadece toz toprak içinde yuvarlandığımız sürece işe yarar.

The dominant literary mode of the twentieth century has been the fantastic. This may appear a surprising claim, which would not have seemed even remotely conceivable at the start of the century and which is bound to encounter fierce resistance even now. However, when the time comes to look back at the century, it seems very likely that future literary historians, detached from the squabbles of our present, will see as its most representative and distinctive works books like J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, and also George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four and Animal Farm, William Golding’s Lord of the Flies and The Inheritors, Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five and Cat’s Cradle, Ursula Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness and The Dispossessed, Thomas Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot-49 and Gravity’s Rainbow. The list could readily be extended, back to the late nineteenth century with H.G. Wells’s The Island of Dr Moreau and The War of the Worlds, and up to writers currently active like Stephen R. Donaldson and George R.R. Martin. It could take in authors as different, not to say opposed, as Kingsley and Martin Amis, Anthony Burgess, Stephen King, Terry Pratchett, Don DeLillo, and Julian Barnes. By the end of the century, even authors deeply committed to the realist novel have often found themselves unable to resist the gravitational pull of the fantastic as a literary mode. This is not the same, one should note, as fantasy as a literary genre – of the authors listed above, only four besides Tolkien would find their works regularly placed on the ‘fantasy’ shelves of bookshops, and ‘the fantastic’ includes many genres besides fantasy: allegory and parable, fairy-tale, horror and science fiction, modern ghost-story and medieval romance. Nevertheless, the point remains. Those authors of the twentieth century who have spoken most powerfully to and for their contemporaries have for some reason found it necessary to use the metaphoric mode of fantasy, to write about worlds and creatures which we know do not exist, whether Tolkien’s ‘Middle-earth’, Orwell’s ‘Ingsoc’, the remote islands of Golding and Wells, or the Martians and Tralfa-madorians who burst into peaceful English or American suburbia in Wells and Vonnegut. A ready explanation for this phenomenon is of course that it represents a kind of literary disease, whose sufferers – the millions of readers of fantasy – should be scorned, pitied, or rehabilitated back to correct and proper taste. Commonly the disease is said to be ‘escapism’: readers and writers of fantasy are fleeing from reality. The problem with this is that so many of the originators of the later twentieth-century fantastic mode, including all four of those first mentioned above (Tolkien, Orwell, Golding, Vonnegut) are combat veterans, present at or at least deeply involved in the most traumatically significant events of the century, such as the Battle of the Somme (Tolkien), the bombing of Dresden (Vonnegut), the rise and early victory of fascism (Orwell). Nor can anyone say that they turned their backs on these events. Rather, they had to find some way of communicating and commenting on them. It is strange that this had, for some reason, in so many cases to involve fantasy as well as realism, but that is what has happened.

Bu lanet olasıca dünya,” dedi, “her şey amma da karmaşık! Şimdiye kadar hiç hayatım olmadı. Ne zaman başlayacak merak ediyorum. On altı yıl boyunca dadıların ve öğretmenlerin kendi paşa keyiflerine göre davranmalarına katlan; beş yılı Londra’da tıp inekleyerek geçir -rezil yemekler, kötü odalar, kötü giysiler, kötü alışkanlıklar, bir hata ve- başka ne yapabilirdim bilmiyorum, sonra da bu hayvanlarla dolu adaya düş. Burada on yıl! Ne için bütün bunlar Prendick? Biz bir bebeğin şişirdiği çikletler miyiz?

My last experiment was impregnating a female Doberman with the sperm of a polar bear. Both of the original species were capable of extreme violence and uncanny stamina. But, by combining them, I created a creature of staggering ferocity.” Mia tried to visualize the monstrosity and returned her gaze to the first mount she’s seen on the wall. Could that be a cross between a Doberman and a polar bear? Turning back to the doctor shrouded in shadow, she remarked, “I hate to say it, but your research sounds more like The Island of Dr. Moreau than Shelley's Frankenstein.

The urge to impose a single classification on SF ignores the generic hybridity of many novels: incorporation of the Gothic in The Island of Dr Moreau, of Shakespeare’s The Tempest in Forbidden Planet, and so on. The rise of film coincides with the emergence of science fiction. The relation between SF fiction and film has included an ongoing fascination with spectacle and extraordinary special effects like those pioneered in Georges Melies’s A Trip to the Moon (1902) and The Impossible Voyage (1904).

It may seem a strange contradiction in me - I cannot explain the fact, - but now, seeing the creature there in a perfectly animal attitude, with the light gleaming in its eyes, and its imperfectly human face distorted with terror, I realized again the fact of its humanity. In another moment others of is pursuers would see it, and it would be overpowered and captured, to experience once more the horrible tortures of the enclosure. Abruptly I slipped out my revolver, aimed between the terror-struck eyes, and fired.

Poor brutes! I began to see the viler aspect of Moreau's cruelty. I had not thought before of the pain and trouble that came to these poor victims after they had passed from Moreau's hands. I had shivered only at the days of actual torment in the enclosure. But now that seemed to be the lesser part. Before they had been beasts, their instincts fitly adapted to their surroundings, and happy as living things may be. Now they stumbled in the shackles of humanity, lived in a fear that never died, fretted by a law they could not understand; their mock-human existence began in an agony, was one long internal struggle, one long dread of Moreau - and for what? It was the wantonness that stirred me.

The thicket about me became altered to my imagination. Every shadow became something more than a shadow, became an ambush; every rustle became a threat. Invisible things seemed watching me.

I felt that for Montgomery there was no help; that he was, in truth, half akin to these Beast folk, unfitted for human kindred.

There is, though I do not know how there is or why there is, a sense of infinite peace and protection in the glittering hosts of heaven. There it must be, I think, in the vast and eternal laws of matter, and not in the daily cares and sins and troubles of men, that whatever is more than animal within us must find its solace and its hope.

A strange persuasion came upon me that, save for the grossness of the line, the grotesqueness of the forms, I had here before me the whole balance of human life in miniature, the whole interplay of instinct, reason, and fate, in its simplest form.

Not to go on all-Fours; that is the Law. Are we not Men? Not to suck up Drink; that is the Law. Are we not Men? Not to eat Flesh nor Fish; that is the Law. Are we not Men? Not to claw Bark of Tree; that is the Law. Are we not Men? Not to chase other Men; that is the Law. Are we not Men?

A thousand things that had seemed unnatural and repulsive speedily became natural and ordinary to me. I suppose everything in existence takes its colour from the average hue of our surroundings.

I have withdrawn myself from the confusion of cities and multitudes, and spend my days surrounded by wise books, bright windows in this life of ours, lit by the shining souls of men.

Ama Maymun Adam beni sıkıntıdan öldürüyordu, beş parmaklı olmasına güvenerek kendini benim eşitim sayıyor ve bana sürekli hızlı hızlı bir şeyler anlatıyordu... olabilecek en beter saçmalıklar. Ama onda bir tek şey beni eğlendiriyordu: Yeni kelimeler oluşturma konusunda fantastik bir yeteneği vardı. Sanırım hiçbir anlam ifade etmeyen isimler hakkında gevezelik edip durmanın konuşmanın temel amacı olduğu gibi bir fikri vardı. Bunlara, “Küçük Düşünceler” dediği günlük hayattaki makul konulardan ayırmak için “Büyük Düşünceler” diyordu. Ona anlamadığı bir şey söylemişsem buna çok memnun olur, bir daha söylememi ister, ezberler ve Hayvan Halkı’nın daha yumuşak başlılarının hepsine, arada bir kelimelerden birini de yanlış söyleyerek, sürekli tekrarlamaya başlardı. Açık ve anlaşılabilir olan hiçbir şeyle ilgilenmezdi. Onun özel kullanımı için birkaç tane çok tuhaf “Büyük Düşünce” üretmiştim. Şimdi onun karşılaştığım en aptal yaratık olduğunu düşünüyorum, insanın ayırt edici özelliğini gösteren aptallığını, hiçbir şey kaybetmeden bir maymunun doğal ahmaklığıyla, olabilecek en muhteşem şekilde birleştirmeyi başarmıştı.

he was one of those saturnine people who smile with the corners of the mouth down

Creo que es allí, en las vastas y eternas leyes de la materia, y no en las preocupaciones, en los pecados y en los problemas cotidianos de los hombres, donde lo que en nosotros pueda haber de superior al animal debe buscar el sosiego y la esperanza. Sin esa ilusión no podría vivir. Y así, en la esperanza y la soledad, concluye mi historia.

Só havia uma coisa que me divertia: tinha um talento extraordinário para criar novas palavras. Julgo que ele acreditava que a maneira correta de falar consistia em articular palavras que não significassem nada. Chamava-lhes "Grandes Pensares", para os distinguir dos "Pequenos Pensares

Sometimes I rise above my level, sometimes I fall below it, but always I fall short of the things I dream.

Cada vez que mergulho uma criatura viva nesse banho ardente de dor, penso: desta vez, queimarei todo o animal até extingui-lo, desta vez produzirei uma criatura racional de acordo com meu desejo. Afinal de contas, o que são dez anos? O homem está sendo aperfeiçoado há cem mil.

Lá fora os uivos pareciam ainda mais altos. Era como se todo o sofrimento do mundo estivesse concentrado numa única voz. E no entanto eu sabia que, se toda aquela dor estivesse sendo experimentada no aposento ao lado por alguém sem voz, acredito (e penso nisso desde então) que eu poderia conviver com ela. É somente quando a dor alheia é dotada de voz e põe os nossos nervos à flor da pele que a piedade brota dentro de nós.