Some excerpts from the book:
‘Can a cube that does not last for any time at all, have a real existence?’
Filby became pensive. ‘Clearly,’ the Time Traveler proceeded, ‘any real body must have extension in four directions: it must have Length, Breadth, Thickness, and—Duration.
This is the question of finite existence that the time traveler asks at the beginning of the story and establishes a need for time with it.
The full temerity of my voyage came suddenly upon me. What might appear when that hazy curtain was altogether withdrawn? What might not have happened to men? What if cruelty had grown into a common passion? What if in this interval the race had lost its manliness and had developed into something inhuman, unsympathetic, and overwhelmingly powerful? I might seem some old–world savage animal, only the more dreadful and disgusting for our common likeness—a foul creature to be incontinently slain.
What a scary realization to have indeed!
Strength is the outcome of need; security sets a premium on feebleness.
What happens when we have mastered nature and don’t need anymore to be innovative to ensure our survival? We become feeble.
I thought of the physical slightness of the people, their lack of intelligence, and those big abundant ruins, and it strengthened my belief in a perfect conquest of Nature. For after the battle comes Quiet. Humanity had been strong, energetic, and intelligent, and had used all its abundant vitality to alter the conditions under which it lived. And now came the reaction of the altered conditions.
Something like the people in Wall-E.
Ages ago, thousands of generations ago, man had thrust his brother man out of the ease and the sunshine. And now that brother was coming back changed!
Here he talks about a split in the human race and the creation of another species.
‘It is a law of nature we overlook, that intellectual versatility is the compensation for change, danger, and trouble. An animal perfectly in harmony with its environment is a perfect mechanism. Nature never appeals to intelligence until habit and instinct are useless. There is no intelligence where there is no change and no need of change.
Once again, a reflection on the nature of utopia.
This room and you and the atmosphere of every day is too much for my memory. Did I ever make a Time Machine, or a model of a Time Machine? Or is it all only a dream? They say life is a dream, a precious poor dream at times—but I can’t stand another that won’t fit. It’s madness. And where did the dream come from?
What is existence?
He, I know—for the question had been discussed among us long before the Time Machine was made—thought but cheerlessly of the Advancement of Mankind, and saw in the growing pile of civilization only a foolish heaping that must inevitably fall back upon and destroy its makers in the end. If that is so, it remains for us to live as though it were not so.
The meek and inevitable surrender to fate.
This is how the novel ends. Such a beautiful thought! The significance of the flowers will be clear once you read the book.