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 (Simon & Schuster, January 1, 2012) Originally October 19, 1953.
I live in a well. I live like smoke in the well. Like vapor in a stone throat. I don’t move. I don’t do anything but wait. Overhead I see the cold stars of night and morning, and I see the sun. And sometimes I sing old songs of this world when it was young.… Continue reading Ray Bradbury
If you want to write, if you want to create, you must be the most sublime fool that God ever turned out and sent rambling. You must write every single day of your life. You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one… Continue reading Ray Bradbury
The huge round lunar clock was a gristmill. Shake down all the grains of Time—the big grains of centuries, and the small grains of years, and the tiny grains of hours and minutes—and the clock pulverized them, slid Time silently out in all directions in a fine pollen, carried by cold winds to blanket the… Continue reading Ray Bradbury
He had been crying quietly all evening. It did not show, not a vestige of it, on his face. It was all hidden somewhere and it wouldn’t stop. — Ray Bradbury, from “The October Game,” The Stories of Ray Bradbury. (Knopf 1980)
One day many years ago a man walked along and stood in the sound of the ocean on a cold sunless shore and said, ‘We need a voice to call across the water, to warn ships; I’ll make one. I’ll make a voice like all of time and all of the fog that ever was;… Continue reading Ray Bradbury
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
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.
Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them. — Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine. (Doubleday… Continue reading Ray Bradbury
Some summers refuse to end. — Ray Bradbury, Farewell Summer (William Morrow, 2006) (via luthienne)
The Vale of Soul-Making 