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| Link | Quote | Stars | Tags | Author |
| e76e5e6 | The Lord is not serious. In fact, it is a little hard to know just what else He is except loving. And love has to do with humor, doesn't it? For you cannot love someone unless you put up with him, can you? And you cannot put up with someone constantly unless you can laugh at him. Isn't that true? And certainly we are ridiculous little animals wallowing in the fudge bowl, and God must love us all the more because we appeal to his humor. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 53cd120 | He wore his happiness like a mask and the girl had run off across the lawn with the mask and there was no way of going to knock on her door and ask for it back. Without | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 979fe6e | yet the heart is suddenly shattered, the body falls in separate motions and the blood is astonished to be freed on the air; the brain squanders its few precious memories and, puzzled, dies. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 49d6abe | It wouldn't be right, the first night on Mars, to make a loud noise, to introduce a strange, silly bright thing like a stove. It would be a kind of imported blasphemy. There'd be time for that later; time to throw condensed-milk cans in the proud Martian canals; time for copies of the New York Times to blow and caper and rustle across the lone gray Martian sea bottoms; time for banana peels and picnic papers in the fluted, delicate ruins of.. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 474d9d1 | Sometimes writers write about a world that does not yet exist. We do it for a hundred reasons. (Because it's good to look forward, not back. Because we need to illuminate a path we hope or we fear humanity will take. Because the world of the future seems more enticing or more interesting than the world of today. Because we need to warn you. To encourage. To examine. To imagine.) The reasons for writing about the day after tomorrow, and all .. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| b712c97 | Not about mean old nasty Mars, I tell you, mister! It's your type that is going to boil for years, and suffer and break out in black pimples and be tortured----" "I must admit Earth isn't very nice. You've described it beautifully." | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 2185a2a | On the front porch where she had come to weigh them quietly with her eyes, her quietness a condemnation, the woman stood motionless. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| a41bf52 | The black land slid by and he was going into the country among the hills. For the first time in a dozen years the stars were coming out above him, in great processions of wheeling fire. He saw a great juggernaut of stars form in the sky and threaten to roll over and crush him... the river was mild and leisurely, going away from the people who ate shadows for breakfast and steam for lunch and vapors for supper. The river was very real; it he.. | peace real river solitude stars | Ray Bradbury | |
| 1623ffa | The keys to the beetle are on the night table. I always like to drive fast when I feel that way. You get up to around ninety-five and you feel wonderful. Sometimes I drive all night and come back and you don't know it. It's fun out in the country. You hit rabbits, sometimes you hit dogs. Go take the beetle. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 1e50681 | She was beginning to shriek now, sitting there like a wax doll melting in its own heat. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 5695d27 | A man had to think them up. A man had to take a long time to put them down on paper. And I'd never even thought that thought before. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| e9b03c3 | She knew a thing she should have known all along: that dead people are like wax memory-you take them in your mind, you shape and squeeze them, push a bump here, stretch one out there, pull the body tall, shape and reshape, handle, sculp and finish a man-memory until he's all out of kilter. | death memory | Ray Bradbury | |
| 59b9542 | They are so confident that they will run on for ever. But they won't run on. They don't now that this is all one huge big blazing meteor that makes a pretty fire in space, but that someday it'll have to it. They see only the blaze, the pretty fire, as you saw it. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| d80cbf1 | Ray Bradbury's definition of a book is at the end, when he points out that we should not judge our books by their covers, and that some books exist between covers that are perfectly people-shaped.) --Neil | Ray Bradbury | ||
| f935dc4 | No, you mustn't! If there were no war, if there was peace in the world, I'd say fine, have fun! But, Montag, you mustn't go back to being just a fireman. All isn't well with the world. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| a9e5527 | And suddenly she was so strange he couldn't believe he knew her at all. He was in someone else's house, like those other jokes people told of the gentleman, drunk, coming home late late at night, unlocking the wrong door, entering a wrong room, and bedding with a stranger and getting up early and going to work and neither of them the wiser. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 533ef2f | Books were only one type of receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There is nothing magical in them, at all. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 8354ca1 | He slapped her face with amazing objectivity and repeated the question. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| b8c9dab | He had seen her painted sign by the road: Skin Illustration! Illustration instead of tattoo! Artistic! | tattoos | Ray Bradbury | |
| 162483d | It was a pleasure to burn. It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 125903b | l bd mn wjwd shy m fy lktb, l bd mn wjwd 'shy l nstTy` tSwrh, 'shy tj`l mr'@ tbq~ fy mnzl yHtrq. l bd mn wjwd shy m hnk.'nti l tbqyn fy mnzl yHtrq mn 'jl l shy. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| d2f626f | It's not books you need, it's some of the things that once were in books. The same things could be in the 'parlor families' today. The same infinite detail and awareness could be projected through the radios and televisors, but are not. No, no, it's not books at all you're looking for! Take it where you can find it, in old phonograph records, old motion pictures, and in old friends; look for it in nature and look for it in yourself. Books w.. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 7e36232 | Everyone must leave something behind when he dies...A child or a book or a painting or a...garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there... The difference between the man who cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching.. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 22aac41 | And when he died, I suddenly realized i wasn't crying for him at all, but for the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again...Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and people look at that tree or that fl.. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 01dd585 | Jump, and you will find out how to unfold your wings as you fall."--Ray Bradbury" | Corinne Michaels | ||
| 6194ec9 | It was a pleasure to burn | Ray Bradbury | ||
| b421d87 | Here we all are," said Herb Thompson, taking his cigar out and looking at it reflectively. "And life is sure funny." "Eh?" said Mr. Stoddard. "Nothing, except here we are, living our lives, and some place else on earth a billion other people live their lives." "That's a rather obvious statement." "Life," he put his cigar back in his lips, "is a lonely thing. Even with married people. Sometimes when you're in a person's arms you feel a milli.. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 9c81d34 | By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes. So vague, yet so immense. He did not want to live with it. Yet he knew that, during this night, unless he lived with it very well, he might have to live with it all the rest of his life. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 2fc73e0 | Watch. Delicately, like the petals of a flower. Light the first page, light the second page. Each becomes a black butterfly. Beautiful, eh? Light the third page, from the second and so on, chain-smoking, chapter by chapter, all the silly things the words mean, all the false promises, all the secondhand notions and time-worn philosophies. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 8a6cdc1 | Coloured people don't like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White people don't feel good about Uncle Tom's Cabin. Burn it. Someone's written a book on tobacco and cancer of the lungs? The cigarette people are weeping? Burn the book. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| b6e2bad | If it seems I've come the long way around, perhaps I have. But I wanted to show what we all have in us, that it has always been there, and so few of us bother to notice. When people ask me where I get my ideas, I laugh. How strange -- we're so busy looking out, to find ways and means, we forget to look in. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| d3e5681 | Ignorance is fatal, M. Garrett | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 92c5336 | Moundshroud, leaning over, gave a snort: "Why those are Sins, boys! And nondescripts. There crawls the Worm of Conscience!" | Ray Bradbury | ||
| f7bba94 | How like a beautiful statue of ice it was, melting in the sun. I remember the newspapers dying like huge moths. No one wanted them back. No one missed them. And then the Government, seeing how advantageous it was to have people reading only about passionate lips and the fist in the stomach, circled the situation with your fire-eaters. So, | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 6b02a4d | The rockets came like drums, beating in the night. The rockets came like locusts, swarming and settling in blooms of rosy smoke. And from the rockets ran men with hammers in their hands to beat the strange world into a shape that was familiar to the eye, to bludgeon away all the strangeness, their mouths fringed with nails so they resembled steel-toothed carnivores, spitting them into their swift hands as they hammered up frame cottages and.. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 0509a6d | I know. You're afraid of making mistakes. Don't be. Mistakes can be profited by. | mistakes self-help | Ray Bradbury | |
| 15e8619 | Well,' she said, 'I'm seventeen and I'm crazy. My uncle says the two always go together. When people ask your age, he said, always say seventeen and insane. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 3bb8c7e | But three, now, Christ three A.M.! Doctors say the body's at low tide then. The soul is out. The blood moves slow. You're the nearest to dead you'll ever be save dying. Sleep is a patch of death, but three in the morn, full wide-eyed staring, is living death! You dream with your eyes open. God, if you had strength to rouse up, you'd slaughter your half-dreams with buckshot! | Ray Bradbury | ||
| e800a37 | There are so many real people around, telling children what and how to do, that a boy has to run off down a beach, even if it's only in his head, to get by himself in his own world. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| ab2514e | Don't look to be saved in any one thing, person, machine, or library. Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least die knowing you were headed for shore. | life ray-bradbury self-help | Ray Bradbury | |
| f80928e | Death makes everything else sad. But death itself only scares. If there wasn't death, all the other things wouldn't get tainted. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 7931f69 | Was there, then, no strength in growing up? No solace in being an adult? No sanctuary in life? No fleshly citadel strong enough to with-stand the scrabbling assault of midnights? | Ray Bradbury | ||
| 9907a13 | If I was ever a rare fine summer person, that's long ago. Most of us are half-and-half. The August noon in us works to stave off the November chills. We survive by what little Fourth of July wits we've stashed away. But there are times when we're all autumn people. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| e08b914 | Silence. A summer-night silence which lay for a thousand miles, which covered the earth like a white and shadowy sea. | sea silence summer | Ray Bradbury |