How we cite our quotes: Citations follow this format: (Chapter.Paragraph)
Quote #16
[The manager's uncle]: "'Ah! my boy, trust to this—I say, trust to this.' I saw him extend his short flipper of an arm for a gesture that took in the forest, the creek the mud, the river—seemed to beckon with a dishonouring flourish before the sunlit face of the land a treacherous appeal to the lurking death, to the hidden evil, to the profound darkness of its heart. It was so startling that I leaped to my feet and looked back at the edge of the forest, as though I had expected an answer of some sort to that black display of confidence." (2.2)
The manager hopes that nature will kill Kurtz, even though, honestly, isn't it just as likely that the jungle will kill him instead? Isn't the point of evil that it's not too picky about its victims? (Well—unless you're a virgin in a horror movie, that is. Then you're probably safe.)
Quote #17
"Going up that river was like traveling back to the earliest beginnings of the world, when vegetation rioted on the earth and the big trees were kings. An empty stream, a great silence, an impenetrable forest. The air was warm, thick, heavy, sluggish […]. On silvery sand-banks hippos and alligators sunned themselves side by side. The broadening waters flowed through a mob of wooded islands; you lost your way on that river as you would in a desert, and butted all day long against shoals, trying to find the channel, till you thought yourself bewitched and cut off for ever from everything you had known once—somewhere—far away—in another existence perhaps." (2.5)
As the pilgrims travel upriver, they feel like they're heading back in time—all the way back to the prehistoric ages when wild beasts ruled the world. Want to hear our thoughts about this time travel? Check out what we have to say in "Setting."
Quote #18
"Trees, trees, millions of trees, massive, immense, running up high; and at their foot, hugging the bank against the stream, crept the little begrimed steamboat, like a sluggish beetle crawling on the floor of a lofty portico. It made you feel very small, very lost, and yet it was not altogether depressing, that feeling. After all, if you were small, the grimy beetle crawled on—which was just what you wanted it to do." (2.7)
Though it would be understandable for Marlow to feel overwhelmed by his smallness, he twists his situation rather optimistically, saying that while a beetle is small, it still crawls towards its destination. Um, okay. And we're still going to smash it with our shoe.