[He put out his hand, and quite noiselessly the great window widened down to us, and the splendid nearer prospect of that dreamland city was before me.] “This is our home,” he said smiling, and with thoughtful eyes on me.
And so, in hope and solitude, my story ends.
And I have by me, for my comfort, two strange white flowers—shrivelled now, and brown and flat and brittle—to witness that even when mind and strength had gone, gratitude and tenderness still lived on in the heart of man.
from The Time Machine
And strangest of all is it to hold my wife’s hand again, and to think that I have counted her, and that she has counted me, among the dead.