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To translate writings, you need a key to the code — and if the last writer of Martian died forty thousand years before the first writer of Earth was born … how could the Martian be translated?
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Right away in the west of Ireland lies a tiny hamlet called Kraighten. It is situated, alone, at the base of a low hill.
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I admit that even among amateurs this is rather small talk, but it brings me to this point: in the passage of water down a ravine of its own making,
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To most minds mystery is more fascinating than science. But when science itself leads straight up to the borders of mystery and there comes to a dead stop, saying, “At present I can no longer see my way,” the force of the charm is redoubled.
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My strange, and perhaps whimsical, incognito proves useful to me in many ways that I never should have thought of.
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A hard fate has condemned human beings to enter this mortal sphere without any natural covering, like that possessed by the lower animals to protect them from the extremes of
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One confidential evening, not three months ago, Lionel Wallace told me this story of the Door in the Wall. And at the time I thought that so far as he
