The First Men in the Moon - Wells, H. G.
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As I sit down to write here amidst the shadows of vine-leaves under the blue sky of southern Italy, it comes to me with a certain quality of astonishment that my participation in these amazing adventures of Mr. Cavor was, after all, the outcome of the purest accident. It might have been any one. I fell into these things at a time when I thought myself removed from the slightest possibility of disturbing experiences. I had gone to Lympne because I had imagined it the most uneventful place in the world. "Here, at any rate," said I, "I shall find peace and a chance to work!" And this book is the…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
As I sit down to write here amidst the shadows of vine-leaves under the blue sky of southern Italy, it comes to me with a certain quality of astonishment that my participation in these amazing adventures of Mr. Cavor was, after all, the outcome of the purest accident. It might have been any one. I fell into these things at a time when I thought myself removed from the slightest possibility of disturbing experiences. I had gone to Lympne because I had imagined it the most uneventful place in the world. "Here, at any rate," said I, "I shall find peace and a chance to work!" And this book is the sequel. So utterly at variance is destiny with all the little plans of men. I may perhaps mention here that very recently I had come an ugly cropper in certain business enterprises. Sitting now surrounded by all the circumstances of wealth, there is a luxury in admitting my extremity. I can admit, even, that to a certain extent my disasters were conceivably of my own making. It may be there are directions in which I have some capacity, but the conduct of business operations is not among these. But in those days I was young, and my youth among other objectionable forms took that of a pride in my capacity for affairs. I am young still in years, but the things that have happened to me have rubbed something of the youth from my mind. Whether they have brought any wisdom to light below it is a more doubtful matter.
Autorenporträt
English author Herbert George Wells wrote more than fifty novels and several short stories. He was born on 21 September 1866, in Bromley, Kent, and was the fourth and last child of Joseph Wells. Wells married his cousin Isabel Mary Wells in 1891. In 1894 the couple got separated, and he fell in love with one of his students, Amy Catherine Robbins, with whom he relocated to Woking, Surrey, in May 1895. Wells' greatest collection of work, which was lamented by younger authors he had influenced, was produced before the First World War. Wells passed away in his residence at 13 Hanover Terrace, which had an overlooked view of Regent's Park, in London on August 13, 1946, at the age of 79 due to unidentified causes. Wells was cremated at Golders Green Crematory, and his ashes were scattered into the English Channel at Old Harry Rocks, which is located in Dorset and approximately 3.5 miles from Swanage.