Quotes from Ray Bradbury

Last night I've thought about all that kerosene I've used in the past 10 years, and I thought about books. And for the first time, I realized that a man was behind each one of the books. 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. It took some man a lifetime maybe to put some of his thoughts down, looking around at the world and life. And then I come walking in and BOOM, it's all over.

?t ph?i có cái gì Ä'ó trong nh?ng cu?n sách, nh?ng th? ta không th? hình dung, nó khi?n cho ng??i Ä'àn bà ? l?i trong c?n nhà cháy, ph?i có cái gì ??y ? trong Ä'ó. Em ? l?i Ä'âu ph?i ch?ng vì má»™t cái gì.

Non è che ognuno nasca libero e uguale, come dice la Costituzione, ma ognuno vien fatto uguale. Ogni essere umano è a immagine e somiglianza di ogni altro; dopo di che tutti son felici, perché non ci sono montagne che ci scoraggino con la loro altezza da superare, non montagne sullo sfondo delle quali si debba misurare la nostra statura! Ecco perché un libro è un fucile carico, nella casa del tuo vicino.

And his eyes were beginning to feel hunger, as if they must look at something, anything, everything

The stories, the plays, were born in a yelping litter. I had but to get out of their way.

But no man's a hero to himself

So much depends, of course, on what the individual hears when he gives himself over to the electronic tides breaking on the shore of his Seashell.

They were the men with the leather-ribbon whips who sweated up the Pyramids, seasoning it with other people's salt and other people's cracked hearts. They coursed Europe on the White Horses of the Plague. They whispered to Caesar that he was mortal, then sold daggers at half-price in the grand March sale.

You can't build a house without nails and wood. If you don't want a house built, hide the nails and wood. If you don't want a man unhappy politically, don't give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none.

Is the programming on such an ear-button receiver of a caliber to enable a man to be a gyroscope, both taking from and giving to society, beautifully balanced?

thing like this happen? I wish we'd brought Einstein with

Quando morì, io mi accorsi ad un tratto che non piangevo per lui, ma per tutte le cose che aveva fatto.

The words become poetry that no one minds, because no one has thought to call it that. Time is there. Love is there. Story is there.

We must try some other way, then," mused Mr. Villanazul. "Someone must be—sympathetic—with her." "What other way is there?" asked Mr. Gomez. "If only," figured Mr. Villanazul after a moment's thought, "if only there was a single man among us." He dropped that like a cold stone into a deep well. He let the splash occur and the ripples move gently out. Everybody sighed.

So many people are. Afraid of firemen, I mean. But you're just a man, after all...

Don't let the torrent of melancholy and drear philosophy drown our world.

O]nly a few perceived the intellectual holocaust and the revolution by burial that Stalin achieved.

Framed through the hall door Will saw the only theater he cared for now, the familiar stage where sat his father (home already! he and Jim must have run the long way round!) holding a book but reading the empty spaces. In a chair by the fire mother knitted and hummed like a tea-kettle.

When it is a long damp November in my soul, and I think too much and perceive too little, I know it is high time to get back to that boy with the tennis shoes, the high fevers, the multitudinous joys, and the terrible nightmares.

His eyes took on a different color. It was a subtle shift, a flex, like a man stepping out from the shade of a tree into sunlight on a cloudy day.

But Douglas, standing on the lawn, was seeing how it would be tomorrow, when the men would pour hot tar over the silver tracks so you would never know a trolley had ever run this way. He knew it would take as many years as he could think of now to forget the tracks, no matter how deeply buried.

Night after night for every year and every year, for no reason at all, the woman comes out and looks at the sky, her hands up, for a long moment, looking at the green burning of Earth, not knowing why she looks, and then she goes back and throws a stick on the fire, and the wind comes up and the dead sea goes on being dead.

Now, look, since when did you think being good meant being happy?" "Since always." "Since now learn otherwise. Sometimes the man who looks happiest in town, with the biggest smile, is the one carrying the biggest load of sin. There are smiles and smiles; learn to tell the dark variety from the light. The seal-barker, the laugh-shouter, half the time he's covering up. He's had his fun and he's guilty. And men do love sin

And the odd thing in Dad's voice was the sound truth makes being said.