Ray Douglas Bradbury (August 22, 1920 – June 5, 2012) was an American author and screenwriter. He worked in a variety of genres, including fantasy, science fiction, horror, and mystery fiction.
Sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads.
You're insane!" "I won't argue that point.
My goal is to entertain myself and others.
The books leapt and danced like roasted birds, their wings ablaze with red and yellow feathers.
It's rare you get an idea from a dream. I can't really recall a story that ever worked out that way. I think in 35 years of writing, that I've ever had a dream that held up. They're much too dislocated
We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.
I define science fiction as the art of the possible. Fantasy is the art of the impossible.
You don't organize metaphors. . . you explode them.
From the outer edge of his life, looking back, there was only one remorse, and that was only that he wished to go on living.
Memory is an illusion, nothing more. It is a fire that needs constant tending.
If Blake said that, said Father Brian, he never lived in Dublin.
I prefer to see myself as the Janus, the two-faced god who is half Pollyanna and half Cassandra, warning of the future and perhaps living too much in the pasta combination of both.
God, how we get our fingers in each other's clay. That's friendship, each playing the potter to see what shapes we can make of each other.
Love what you do and do what you love. Don't listen to anyone else who tells you not to do it. You do what you want, what you love. Imagination should be the center of your life.
If you did not write every day, the poisons would accumulate and you would begin to die, or act crazy or both-you must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.
May you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.
Last night I thought about all the kerosene I've used in the past ten 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 along in two minutes and boom! it's all over.
Science is no more than an investigation of a miracle we can never explain, and art is an interpretation of that miracle.
We should have stayed on the moon. We should have made moon the base, instead of building space stations, which are fragile and which fly apart.
Beware the autumn people