Black & White Illustrations By Moebius‬. Reference For Some Of These: Doorofperception.com

“Beware the autumn people.”

— Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes

Dandelion Wine, Ray Bradbury, photos around my hometown

The Murderer

“Why didn't I start a solitary revolution, deliver man from certain 'conveniences'? 'Convenient for who?'”

— Ray Bradbury

“We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?”  - Ray Bradbury

I read that a few years ago and it was WILD. I only remember picking it up because it was mentioned in an episode of Criminal Minds and it sounded crazy haha

It really is! I find a lot of Ray Bradbury stories completely out there, ESPECIALLY considering how old they are!

And obligatory favourite quotes, and they are all related to death, because of course, Ray 💀💀💀

Long before you knew what death was you were wishing it on someone else.

Oh, death in space was most humorous.

And now the great loose brain was disintegrating. The components of the brain which had worked so beautifully and efficiently in the skull case of the rocket ship firing through space were dying one by one; the meaning of their life together was falling apart. And as a body dies when the brain ceases functioning, so the spirit of the ship and their long time together and what they meant to one another was dying.

Sunsets are loved because they vanish.

-- Ray Bradbury

(Cluj, Romania)

                                            Thrown out of Eden                                       Now we headlong humans                                          Sinners sinned against                                                      Return.                                      Tossed from the central sun                                  We with our own concentric fires                                                 Blaze and burn.                                      Once at the hub of wakening                                               And vast starwheel,                              For centuries long-lost, and made to feel                                       Unwanted, orphaned, mindless,                                    Driven forth to grassless gardens,                                             Dead and desert sea,                          We were shut out by comet grooms like Kepler                                                   Galileo Galilei                                Whose short-sight probing light-years                                                  Upped and said:                                               The Hub’s not here!                                      So shot man through the head                         And worse, each starblind prophet killed a part,                                           Snugged shut our souls,                                          Chopped short our reach,                                         Entombed our living heart.                                    But now we bastard sons of time                                         Pronounce ourselves anew                                        And strike fire-hammer blows                          To change tomorrow’s clime, its meteor snows.                                         Our rocket selfhood grows                            To give dull facts a shake, break data down                       To climb the Empire State and thundercry the town                                         But more! reach up and strike                                             And claim from Heaven                                    The Garden we were shunted from,                                               For now, space-driven                                            We fit, fix, force and fuse,                                            Re-hub the systems vast                                                 Respoke starwheel                                             And at the spiraled core                                             Plant foot, full fire-shod                                               And thus saints feel                                          Our yeast like flesh of God.                                         We march back to Olympus,                                      Our plain-bread flesh burns gold!                                        We clothe ourselves in flame                                         And trade new myths for old.                                         The Greek gods christen us                                        With ghosts of comet swords;                                       God smiles and names us thus:                                          "Arise! Run! Fly, my Lords!“

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We March Back To Olympus

Ray Bradbury  1920-2012

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Graphic - Daniel Maidman  (B.1975)

Michael Whelan’s cover art for the 40th anniversary edition of Ray Bradbury’s Martian Chronicles (1990)

Source

The Watchful Poker Chip of H. Matisse

“The mob-mind, said his subconscious. You're symbolic of the crowd. They came to study the dreadful vulgarity of this imaginary Mass Man they pretend to hate. But they're fascinated with the snake-pit.”

— Ray Bradbury