Quotes from Ray Bradbury

Y cuando murió, comprendí que yo no lloraba por él, sino por todas las cosas que hacía. Lloraba porque nunca volvería a hacerlas.

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. Of

Pero eso es lo maravilloso en el hombre; nunca se descorazona o disgusta tanto como para no empezar de nuevo. Sabe

there was always a minority afraid of something, and a great majority afraid of the dark, afraid of the future, afraid of the past, afraid of the present, afraid of themselves and shadows of themselves.

The train? Pulled off on a spur in the warming grass, it was old, yes, and welded tight with rust, but it looked like a titanic magnet that had collected to itself, from locomotive boneyards across three continents, drive shafts, fly-wheels, smoke stacks, and hand-me-down second-rate nightmares. It did not cut a black and mortuary silhouette. It asked permission but to lie dead in autumn strewings, so much tired steam and iron gunpowder blowing away.

El pueblo tiene siempre algún campeón, a quien enaltece por encima de todo… Ésta y no otra es la raíz de la que nace un tirano; al principio es un protector.

Anything that's strange is no good to the average American.

Sometimes i'm ancient. I'm afraid of children my own age. They kill each other... I'm afraid of them and they don't like me because I'm afraid. My Uncle says his grandfather remembered when children didn't kill each other. But that was a long time ago when they had things different. They believed in responsibility...

They came to the strange blue lands and put their names upon the lands.

Jim gazed fiercely deep into the bottomless sea, where now only the pure light glanced back at itself (Bradbury 63). This text not only describes what Jim is seeing, but also scared of what he does not know. He sees that is glanced back, of how he described the maze.

Evil has only the power that we give it

It was the twentieth year after the Great War. Mars was a tomb planet.

And yet . . .looking here at this bottle which by its number signalized the day when Colonel Freeleigh had stumbled and fallen six feet into the earth, Douglas could not find so much as a gram of dark sediment, not a speck of the great flouring buffalo dust, not a flake of sulphur from the guns at Shiloh . . .

Mr. Sanderson stood in the sun-blazed door, listening. From a long time ago, when he dreamed as a boy, he remembered the sound. Beautiful creatures leaping under the sky, gone through brush, under trees, away, and only the soft echo their running left behind.

Stuff your eyes with wonder.

They have forgotten, if they ever knew, the ancient knowledge that only by being truly sick can one regain health. Even beasts know when it is good and proper to throw up. Teach me how to be sick then, in the right time and place, so that I may again walk in the fields and with the wise and smiling dogs know enough to chew sweet grass.

it was suddenly so very wrong that he had begun to cry, not at death but at the thought of not crying at death, a silly empty man near a silly empty woman, while the hungry snake made her still more empty.

Allora non v'importa più di nulla? M'importa tanto, che ho la nausea di tutto.

They both stopped to enjoy the swift pound of each other's heart.

Do you remember what happened to Mexico when Cortez and his very fine good friends arrived from Spain? A whole civilization destroyed by greedy, righteous bigots.

Shades slithered, doors boomed, keys rattled their bones in locks, people fled with hordes of torn newspaper mice nibbling their heels.

The town was so quiet and far off you could hear only the crickets sounding in the spaces beyond the hot indigo trees that hold back the stars.

What a joke, Simon, life is. "From vanity we buy lenses that see all and so lose everything! "And by giving up some small bit-piece of so-called wisdom, reality, truth, we gain back an entirety of life! Who does not know this? Writers do! Intuited novels are far more 'true' than all your scribbled data-fact reportage in the history of the world!

Man vergesse sie. Man verbrenne sie, man verbrenne alles. Das Feuer ist hell, das Feuer ist sauber.