Ray Bradbury cytaty

strona 10

„Czy wszyscy umierający ludzie czują się tak, jakby nigdy nie żyli?”

„Nie należy sądzić książki po obwolucie.”

„Wybaczcie mi bluźnierstwo, ale nie przebaczę Bogu, że zabrał Kuttnera z tego świata tak wcześnie, w 1958 roku. To jego śmierć sprawiła, że źle wspominam ten rok. Szczególnie źle dlatego, że jego talent był specyficzny i niepowtarzalny.”

„Istotnie, wszystko odeszło. Kiedy życie się kończy jest jak mignięcie barwnego filmu, ułamek sekundy na ekranie – wszystkie niechęci i namiętności skoncentrowane i przez moment płonące w przestrzeni, i zanim człowiek zdąży krzyknąć Oto szczęśliwy dzień, oto nieszczęśliwy, oto zła twarz, a to dobra, z filmu zostaje jedynie popiół, ekran ciemnieje.”

„451° Fahrenheita – to temperatura, w której papier zaczyna się tlić i płonie…”

„Jedyną osobą, która odczuwała chłód w promieniu wielu mil, była panna Frostbite, asystentka podróżującego magika. Stała na wystawie od trzech dni, zamknięta w bryle lodu, i, jak mówili ludzie, nie oddychała, nie jadła i nie mówiła. Uważałem, że pozbawienie kobiety tego ostatniego przywileju było szczególnym okrucieństwem.”

„Obracając się w środowiskach uniwersyteckich, wśród intelektualistów i słuchając nazwisk, które padają w czasie rozmów o książkach, ciągle słyszy się:
Tolkien, Lovecraft, Heinlein, Sturgeon, Wells, Verne, Orwell, Vonnegut oraz, przepraszam za wyrażenie, Bradbury.
A nieczęsto – Kuttner.
Dlaczego tak jest?
Dlaczego Henry Kuttner po śmierci stał się pisarzem zapomnianym?
Czy był równie dobry jak tamci?
Tak.
Czy napisał wiele?
Więcej niż niejeden z nich.
Czy był pisarzem jak owoc granatu – pełnym nasion-pomysłów?
Tak.
Czy dorównywał pozostałym błyskotliwością?
Może nie zawsze.
Czy dął w swój własny róg?
Rzadko.
Może jego prace były zbyt różnorodne i obejmujące wiele rodzajów fantastyki?
Możliwe.”

„Każde wymarłe miasto ma swoje duchy. To znaczy wspomnienia.”

“Who are your friends? Do they believe in you? Or do they stunt your growth with ridicule and disbelief? If the latter, you haven't friends. Go find some.”

“I'm inclined to believe you need the psychiatrist.”

“Quantity produces quality. If you only write a few things, you're doomed.”

“We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while.”

“Summer quiet thoughts on summer quiet noons.”

“We must move into the universe. Mankind must save itself. We must escape the danger of war and politics. We must become astronauts and go out into the universe and discover the God in ourselves.”

“And then, quite suddenly, summer was over.”

“The crowd upon the cross gives anguished roar;
A moment terrible to hear.”

“Oh, God, children are children, old women are old women, and nothing in between. They can’t imagine a change they can’t see.”

“I am not a science fiction writer. I am a fantasy writer. But the label got put on me and stuck.”

“I know you've heard it a thousand times before. But it's true — hard work pays off. If you want to be good, you have to practice, practice, practice. If you don't love something, then don't do it.”

“A single face turned upward toward all Time
One flesh, one ecstasy, one peace.”

“Video games are a waste of time for men with nothing else to do. Real brains don't do that. On occasion? Sure. As relaxation? Great. But not full time— And a lot of people are doing that. And while they're doing that, I'll go ahead and write another novel.”

“More murders are committed at ninety-two degrees Fahrenheit than any other temperature. Over one hundred, it’s too hot to move. Under ninety, cool enough to survive. But right at ninety-two degrees lies the apex of irritability, everything is itches and hair and sweat and cooked pork. The brain becomes a rat rushing around a red-hot maze. The least thing, a word, a look, a sound, the drop of a hair and—irritable murder.”

“He stood very straight and thought of nothing, or at least thought of thinking nothing.”

“Don't tell me how to write my novel. Don't tell me you've got a better ending for it. I have no time for that.”

“Leave off losings, and take on winnings, Erase all mortal ends, give birth to only new beginnings,
In a billion years of morning and a billion years of sleep.”

“Kindness and intelligence are the preoccupations of age. Being cruel and thoughtless is far more fascinating when you’re twenty.”

“I believe,” said the first lady, “that our souls are in our hands. For we do everything to the world with our hands. Sometimes I think we don’t use our hands half enough; it’s certain we don’t use our heads.”

“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? I've heard rumors; the world is starving, but we're well fed. Is it true, the world works hard and we play? Is that why we're hated so much?”

“In science fiction, we dream. In order to colonize in space, to rebuild our cities, which are so far out of whack, to tackle any number of problems, we must imagine the future, including the new technologies that are required.”

“THE OCTOBER COUNTRY …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 midnights 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. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain…”

“Science and religion have to go hand in hand with the mystery, because there's a certain point beyond which you say, "There are no answers."”

“The rocket stood in the cold winter morning, making summer with every breath of its mighty exhausts. The rocket made climates, and summer lay for a brief moment upon the land.”

“I have something to fight for and live for; that makes me a better killer. I’ve got what amounts to a religion, now.”

““And what happened next?”
“Silence happened next. God, it was beautiful.””

“I’m not afraid. When you live as long as I’ve lived, you lose that, too. I never liked lobster in my life, and mainly because I’d never tried it. On my eightieth birthday I tried it. I can’t say I’m greatly excited over lobster still, but I have no doubt as to its taste now, and I don’t fear it. I dare say death will be a lobster, too, and I can come to terms with it.”

“Only six months ago, I discovered that, over the years, some cubby-hole editors at Ballantine Books, fearful of contaminating the young, had, bit by bit, censored some 75 separate sections from the novel. Students, reading the novel which, after all, deals with the censorship and book-burning in the future, wrote to tell me of this exquisite irony. Judy-Lynn Del Rey, one of the new Ballantine editors, is having the entire book reset and republished this summer with all the damns and hells back in place.”

“Any town, New York, Chicago, with its people, becomes improbable with distance. Just as I am improbable here, in Illinois, in a small town by a quiet lake. All of us improbable to one another because we are not present to one another.”