That country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country… Continue reading Ray Bradbury
I care so much I’m sick. — Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451. (Plaza y Janes, January 3, 2006) Originally published Ocatober 1953
The zipper displaces the button and a man lacks just that much time to think while dressing at dawn, a philosophical hour, and thus a melancholy hour. ― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451. (Plaza y Janes, January 3, 2006) Originally published Ocatober 1953.
June dawns, July noons, August evenings over, finished, done, and gone forever with only the sense of it all left here in his head. Now, a whole autumn, a white winter, a cool and greening spring to figure sums and totals of summer past. And if he should forget, the dandelion wine stood in the… Continue reading Ray Bradbury
…After all, each story is a Rorschach Test, isn’t it? And if people find beasties and bedbugs in my ink-splotches, I cannot prevent it, can I? They will insist on seeing them, anyway, and that is their privilege. Still, I wish people, quasi-intellectuals, did not try so hard to find the man under the old… Continue reading Ray Bradbury
But souls can’t be sold. They can only be lost and never found again. ― Ray Bradbury, Long After Midnight. (Pocket Books April 12, 2000) Originally published September 1976.
I went to bed and woke in the middle of the night thinking I heard someone cry, thinking I myself was weeping, and I felt my face and it was dry. Then I looked at the window and thought: Why, yes, it’s just the rain, the rain, always the rain, and turned over, sadder still,… Continue reading Ray Bradbury