Single Naive Timeline

I must have a subject. And there is a certain—risk. Not great, now, I’m sure. My apparatus is improved. But, in my first trial, my subject was—injured. I’ve been wondering, Mr. Webb, if you—

They stand about, little misshapen men with huge heads. But their heads contain only brains. They had machines that could think—but somebody turned them off a long time ago, and no one knew how to start them again. That was the trouble with them. They had wonderful brains. Far better than yours or mine. But it must have been millions of years ago when they were turned off, too, and they just hadn’t thought since then. Kindly little people.

Kerry: Then it is from another world?

Coach Trout: No, from our world, centuries in the future.

Research has to be along practical lines! The trustees demand it!

Tad was certain that if he mixed ammonia with a chemical he had brewed called Dyproxylin, then heated this mixture in a flask to boiling, chilled it suddenly, you could, by breathing the fumes, project yourself forward in time.

I saw this move somewhere . . . If I could just remember!

No . . . it’s all an illusion! I’ve been working too hard!

It’s just like this picture . . . of a time machine!

It was Ned who fell under the hypnotic trance . . . and Ned who responded to the commands of Jiminez!

When Ernst materialized again, he found himself in familiar surroundings! He realized it was his own town, but there was something different . . .

After I repaired it, I tested the our hand by pushing it backward all the way around . . . and today became yesterday!

Time for listening to the oracle is past; you’re beyond the stage for omens, you’re now headed in for the kill, yours or his; superstition has had its little day for today; from now on, only this windy nerve of yours, this shakey conglomeration of muscle entangled untraceably beneath the sweat-shiny carapice of skin, this bloody little urge to slay the dragon, is going to answer all your orisons.

Three times I have come to give warnings—to help you, and I have been treated with scorn and ridicule!

Smoke billows into a bright blue sky scarred by a rip in the heavens—what we’ll come to know as . . . The Rift

“And the year?”

You shall travel to faraway lands, see things undreamed of: flying steel dragons and horses, magic boxes that make merry.

Sir, I know it’s a doorway and all, and we gotta send everything back there, but in training they did not really tell us what happens if we don’t.

You were wrong about my age, though. In the sixteenth century, I’m an adult. I am physically mature and able to bear children, and that’s all that matters. No one cares about the completeness of my frontal lobe.

Helena: Well, for starters, you’d have changed the course of history.
Indy: That supposed to be a bad thing?