Ray Bradbury - Blog Posts
- Мы потому и любим закат, что он бывает только один раз в день.
- Но это очень грустно, Лина.
- Нет, если бы он длился вечно и до смерти надоел бы нам, вот это было бы по-настоящему грустно.
(с) Рэй Брэдбери “Вино из одуванчиков”
“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.”
Algumas pessoas ficam tristes incrivelmente jovens _ disse ele _ Por nenhum motivo, ao que parece, parecem quase nascer assim. Elas se machucam mais fácil, se cansam mais rápido, choram mais prontamente, se lembram por mais tempo e, como eu digo, ficam tristes mais jovens que qualquer outra pessoa no mundo. Sei disso porque sou uma delas. (…) Vou deixar essas duas garrafas aqui (…) Beba com o nariz (…) Leia os rótulos primeiro, é claro (…) 'CRESPÚSCULO VERDE DE PURO AR DE SONHO DO NORTE' (…) Lembre-se: foi engarrafado por um Amigo.
"Licor de Dente-de-Leão" _ Ray Bradbury.
My aesthetic is setting Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury on fire while listening to Burn from Hamilton
“All Summer in a Day” Review
Margot feels the sun more than other children because she was more closer to it and more distant from them.
I want to write a narrative piece about censorship. When I was younger I thought it was something only in books, I never would have imagined that it would be something I would encounter in my real life. Why do people want to ban books? Books provide knowledge, they help us step into worldly perspectives other than our own. We hear stories, we learn, and we grow.
I read Fahrenheit 451 in eighth grade for the first time, and I was throughly shocked by the content. Why would a society be so afraid of books, and literature that they wanted to burn them. In my fourteen year old brain it felt like an act of immaturity, and completely unnecessary. Let the people read! Let them grow their horizons and read!
It wasn’t until I had read 1984 that I truly began to understand the point of government censorship. When I read Bradbury the year before, I was reading a required book for class, and my brain didn’t think much past the fact that I thought it was wrong. However while reading Orwell I really started to grasp at what was the reason and why it was so wrong that people were banning books.
I’ll probably come back to this later, but I am starting to write a narrative essay on this, and I needed a place to just blurt my thoughts.
rip Ray Bradbury, you would've loved reels and shorts and the endless for you page and raycon wireless earbuds and plasma tvs and fried attention spans and reaction channels and vr and parasocial twitch streamers
My favorite kind of morning.
Gardening is the handiest excuse for being a philosopher. Nobody guesses, nobody accuses, nobody knows, but there you are, Plato in the peonies, Socrates force-growing his own hemlock. A man toting a sack of blood manure across his lawn is kin to Atlas letting the world spin easy on his shoulder.
Dandelion Wine, Ray Bradbury
You are all there, the people in the city. I can't believe I was ever among you. When you are away from a city it becomes a fantasy. Any town, New York, Chicago, with its people, becomes improbable with distance.
Dandelion Wine, Ray Bradbury
"It was a pleasure to burn."
“waiting out there, and waiting out there, while man comes and goes on this pitiful little planet. waiting and waiting.”
illustration for "the fog horn" by ray bradbury
“So while our art cannot, as we wish it could, save us from wars, privation, envy, greed, old age, or death, it can revitalize us amidst it all.”
— Ray Bradbury, “Zen in the Art of Writing”
"All things, once seen, they didn’t just die, that couldn’t be. It must be then that somewhere, searching the world, perhaps in the dripping multiboxed honeycombs where light was an amber sap stored by pollen-fired bees, or in the thirty thousand lenses of the noon dragonfly’s gemmed skull you might find all the colors and sights of the world in any one year. Or pour one single drop of this dandelion wine beneath a microscope and perhaps the entire world of July Fourth would firework out in Vesuvius showers. This he would have to believe."
Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine
From The Martian Chronicles, Ray Bradbury’s 1949 sci-fi classic.
“The wind outside nested in each tree, prowled the sidewalks in invisible treads like unseen cats. Tom Skelton shivered. Anyone could see that the wind was a special wind this night, and the darkness took on a special feel because it was All Hallows' Eve. Everything seemed cut from soft black velvet or gold or orange velvet. Smoke panted up out of a thousand chimneys like the plumes of funeral parades. From kitchen windows drifted two pumpkin smells: gourds being cut, pies being baked.” ― Ray Bradbury, The Halloween Tree
JOMP Book Photo Challenge || October 31 || Books and Candy:
Joseph Mugnaini - The Halloween Tree, 1972
"That country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and mid-nights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts." -Ray Bradbury, "The October Country"
The October Country - art by Joseph Mugnaini (1955)
the rocket man
“Doug,” he said, about five in the afternoon, as we were picking up our towels and heading back along the beach near the surf. “I want you to promise me something.
“Don’t ever be a rocket man.”
I stopped.
“I mean it,” he said, “because when you’re out there you want to be here, and when you’re here you want to be out there. Don’t start that. Don’t let it get hold of you.
“You don’t know what it is. Every time I’m out there I think, if I ever get back to Earth I’ll stay there, I’ll never go out again. But I go out and I guess I’ll always go out.”
“I’ve thought about being a Rocket Man for a long time,” I said.
He didn’t hear me. “I try to stay here. Last Saturday when I got home I started trying so damned hard to stay here.”
I remembered him in the garden, sweating, and all the traveling and doing and listening, and I knew that he did this to convince himself that the sea and the towns and the land and his family were the only real things and the good things. But I knew where he would be tonight: looking at the jewelry in Orion from our front porch.
“Promise me you won’t be like me,” he said.
ray bradbury, maclean's magazine, march 1, 1951
Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes
“Oh God, midnight’s not bad, you wake and go back to sleep, one or two’s not bad, you toss but sleep again. Five or six in the morning, there’s hope, for dawn’s just under the horizon. 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! But no, you lie pinned to a deep well-bottom that’s burned dry. The moon rolls by to look at you down there, with its idiot face. It’s a long way back to sunset, a far way on to dawn, so you summon all the fool things of your life, the stupid lovely things done with people known so very well who are now so very dead – And wasn’t it true, had he read somewhere, more people in hospitals die at 3 A.M. than at any other time...”
-Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes
"That country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and mid-nights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts." -Ray Bradbury, "The October Country"
The stars are yours, if you have the head, the hands, and the heart for them.
R is for Rocket, Ray Bradbury
Illustration based on ray bradburys the fog horn