The Man Who Was Thursday
Language: English
Pages: 138
ISBN: 1514350017
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare is a metaphysical thriller that was first published by G.K Chesterton in 1908. The plot begins when Gabriel Syme first gets recruited to a secret anarchist division of Scotland Yard. Heavy with both Christian and religious allegories, the book then follows Syme during his time spent in the division. Rife with optimism, The Man Who Was Thursday is a larger story strung together by solid writing and themes of faith. In this way, the book serves as a great, thrilling tale of transformation, which explores the notion of poetry, the written word and finding light in the dark.
the whole grew past description, transparent and passionate, and the last red-hot plumes of it covered up the sun like something too good to be seen. The whole was so close about the earth, as to express nothing but a violent secrecy. The very empyrean seemed to be a secret. It expressed that splendid smallness which is the soul of local patriotism. The very sky seemed small. I say that there are some inhabitants who may remember the evening if only by that oppressive sky. There are others who
be delivered inch by inch into the power of this great enemy of mankind, whose very intellect was a torture-chamber. Whenever he looked down into the square he saw the comfortable policeman, a pillar of common sense and common order. Whenever he looked back at the breakfast-table he saw the President still quietly studying him with big, unbearable eyes. In all the torrent of his thought there were two thoughts that never crossed his mind. First, it never occurred to him to doubt that the
be delivered inch by inch into the power of this great enemy of mankind, whose very intellect was a torture-chamber. Whenever he looked down into the square he saw the comfortable policeman, a pillar of common sense and common order. Whenever he looked back at the breakfast-table he saw the President still quietly studying him with big, unbearable eyes. In all the torrent of his thought there were two thoughts that never crossed his mind. First, it never occurred to him to doubt that the
darkness; he had sunk down into his seat shuddering, in a palsy of passionate relief. CHAPTER VII. THE UNACCOUNTABLE CONDUCT OF PROFESSOR DE WORMS "SIT down!" said Sunday in a voice that he used once or twice in his life, a voice that made men drop drawn swords. The three who had risen fell away from Gogol, and that equivocal person himself resumed his seat. "Well, my man," said the President briskly, addressing him as one addresses a total stranger, "will you oblige me by putting your
startling and formidable as that little grinning fellow in goggles. He has not perhaps the white-hot enthusiasm unto death, the mad martyrdom for anarchy, which marks the Secretary. But then that very fanaticism in the Secretary has a human pathos, and is almost a redeeming trait. But the little Doctor has a brutal sanity that is more shocking than the Secretary's disease. Don't you notice his detestable virility and vitality. He bounces like an india-rubber ball. Depend on it, Sunday was not