Quote

Way out in the country tonight he could smell the pumpkins ripening toward the knife and the triangle eye and the singeing candle.

Ray Bradbury

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Ray Bradbury
Age: 91 †
Born: 1920
Born: August 22
Died: 2012
Died: June 6
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Prosaist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Writer
Waukegan
Illinois
Ray Douglas Bradbury
Way
Knife
Knives
Candle
Tonight
Pumpkins
Smell
Triangle
Toward
Ripening
Eye
Triangles
Country
Pumpkin

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Long before you knew what death was you were wishing it on someone else.
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Impossible for how many people did you know who refracted your own light to you?
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Every morning I jump out of bed and step on a landmine. The landmine is me. After the explosion, I spent the rest of the day putting the pieces together.
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The great thing about my life is that everything I've done is a result of what I was when I was 12 or 13.
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I don't believe in government. I hate politics. I'm against it. And I hope that sometime this fall, we can destroy part of our government, and next year destroy even more of it. The less government, the happier I will be.
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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 when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there.
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Why is it, he said, one time, at the subway entrance, I feel I've known you so many years? Because I like you, she said, and I don't want anything from you.
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Really knowing is good. Not knowing, or refusing to know, is bad, or amoral, at least. You can't act if you don't know. Acting without knowing takes you right off the cliff.
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Science fiction is really sociological studies of the future, things that the writer believes are going to happen by putting two and two together.
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Venice was and is full of lost places where people put up for sale the last worn bits of their souls, hoping no one will buy.
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First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys.
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If you enjoy living, it is not difficult to keep the sense of wonder.
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Where would you like to go, what would you really like to do with your life? See Istanbul, Port Said, Nairobi, Budapest. Write a book. Smoke too many cigarettes. Fall off a cliff but get caught in a tree halfway down. Get shot at a few times in a dark alley on a Morrocan midnight. Love a beautiful woman.
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Do three things each night before you go to bed: read a poem, read a short story, read an essay.
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If you're living in your time, you cannot help but to write about the things that are important.
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Think of Shakespeare and Melville and you think of thunder, lightning, wind. They all knew the joy of creating in large or small forms, on unlimited or restricted canvases. These are the children of the gods.
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I have four daughters and eight grandchildren. My soul lives on in them. That's immortality. That's the only immortality I care about.
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Poetry expands the senses and keeps them in prime condition. It keeps you aware of your nose, your eye, your ear, your tongue, your hand.
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The sun rose yellow as a lemon.The sky was round and blue.The birds looped clear water songs in the air.Will and Jim leaned from their windows.Nothing had changed.Except the look in Jim's eyes.Last night. . . said Will. Did or didn't it happen?
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Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.
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