Ray Bradbury

We're going to go build a mirror-factory first and put out nothing but mirrors for the next year and take a long look in them.

June dawns, July noons, August evenings over, finished, done, and gone forever with only the sense of it all left here in his head. Now, a whole autumn, a white winter, a cool and greening spring to figure sums and totals of summer past. And if he should forget, the dandelion wine stood in the cellar, numbered huge for each and every day.

Is it because we're having so much fun at home we've forgotten the world? Is it because we're so rich and the rest of the world's so poor and we just don't care if they are?

No, no, it's not books at all you're looking for! Take it where you can find it, in old phonograph records, old motion pictures, and in old friends; look for it in nature and look for it in yourself.

I rarely watch the 'parlour walls' or go to races or Fun Parks. So I've lots of time for crazy thoughts.

You lived with people every day and they never altered a degree. It was only when people had been off on a long trip, for years, that they shocked you.

What is there about fire that's so lovely? No matter what age we are, what draws us to it? It's perpetual motion; the thing man wanted to invent but never did. Or almost perpetual motion. If you let it go on, it'd burn our lifetimes out.
What is fire? It's a mystery. Scientists give us gobbledegook about friction and molecules. But they don't really know. Its real beauty is that it destroys responsibility and consequences. A problem gets too burdensome, then into the furnace with it.

The universe... won't be measured or equated without making man feel bestial and lonely.

Let you alone! That's all very well, but how can I leave myself alone?

Everyone must leave something behind when he dies.... 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.

"Then you don't care any more?"
"I care so much I'm sick."

Time is so strange and life is twice as strange. The cogs miss, the wheels turn, and lives interlace too early or too late.

To everything there is a season. Yes. A time to break down, and a time to build up. Yes. A time to keep silence and a time to speak. Yes, all that. But what else. What else? Something, something. . .

...you can have what you want if you really want it.

The falling parts of a dream fashioned out of warped glass, mirrors, and crystal prisms.