Ray Bradbury
Ray Bradbury
Ray Douglas Bradburywas an American fantasy, science fiction, horror and mystery fiction author...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth22 August 1920
CityLos Angeles, IL
CountryUnited States of America
night mirrors rocks
The rockets set the bony meadows afire, turned rock to lava, turned wood to charcoal, transmuted water to steam, made sand and silica into green glass which lay like shattered mirrors reflecting the invasion, all about. The rockets came like drums, beating in the night. The rockets came like locusts, swarming and settling in blooms of rosy smoke.
fun writing joy
Writing is not a serious business. It’s a joy and a celebration. You should be having fun with it.
next-day phones people
Don’t let people interfere with you. Boot ’em out, turn off the phone, hide away, get it done. If you carry a short story over to the next day you may overnight intellectualize something about it and try to make it too fancy, try to please someone.
religious wall passion
Too many of us have lost the passion and emotion of the remarkable things we-ve done in space. Let us not tear up the future, but rather again heed the creative metaphors that render space travel a religious experience. When the blast of a rocket launch slams you against the wall and all the rust is shaken off your body, you will hear the great shout of the universe and the joyful crying of people who have been changed by what they-ve seen.
war wind odor
When the wind is right, a faint odor of kerosene is exhaled from Senator McCarthy.
god mother father
"Oh, ancient god, whatever your name," whispered Ahmed. "Help this lost son of a good father, this evil boy who meant no harm but slept in school, ran errands slowly, did not pray from his heart, ignored his mother, and did not hold his family in great esteem. For all this I know I must suffer. But here in the midst of silence, at the desert's heart, where even the wind knows not my name? Must I die so young? Am I to be forgotten without having been?"
light people impossible
Impossible; for how many people did you know who refracted your own light to you?
years missing criticism
The critics are generally wrong, or they're fifteen, twenty years late. It's a great shame. They miss out on a lot.
children winter islands
He lay far across the room from her, on a winter island separated by an empty sea. She talked to him for what seemed a long while and she talked about this and she talked about that and it was only words, like the words he had heard once in a nursery at a friend's house, a two-year-old child building word patters, like jargon, making pretty sounds in the air.
writing facts rich
We all are rich and ignore the buried fact of accumulated wisdom.
balance done fats
Notoriety and a fat bank balance must come after everything else is finished and done.
long coward way
Mr. Montag, you are looking at a coward. I saw the way things were going a long time back. I said nothing. I am one of the innocents who could have spoken up and out when no one would listen to the 'guilty,' but I did not speak and thus became guilty myself.
love-you writing want
I want your loves to be multiple. I don't want you to be a snob about anything. Anything you love, you do it.
running men trying
Men throw huge shadows on the lawn, don't they? Then, all their lives, they try to run to fit the shadows. But the shadows are always longer.