Quotes from Ray Bradbury

A computer does not smell ... if a book is new, it smells great. If a book is old, it smells even better… And it stays with you forever. But the computer doesn't do that for you. I'm sorry.

If you have moved over vast territories and dared to love silly things, you will have learned even from the most primitive items collected and put aside in your life.

They whispered to Caesar that he was mortal, then sold daggers at half-price in the grand March sale.

Some boys walk by and you cry, seeing them. They feel good, they look good, they are good. Oh, they're not above peeing off a bridge, or stealing an occasional dime-store pencil sharpener; it's not that. It's just, you know, seeing them pass, that's how they'll be all their life; they'll get hit, hurt, cut, bruised, and always wonder why, why does it happen? how can it happen to them?

The most important single thing we had to pound into ourselves is that we were not important, we musn't be pedants; we were not to feel superior to anyone else in the world. We're nothing more than dust jackets for books, of no significance otherwise.

We all are rich and ignore the buried fact of accumulated wisdom.

The best scientist is open to experience and begins with romance - the idea that anything is possible.

And a lot of it will be wrong, but just enough of it will be right.

Somehow, irresistibly, the prime thing was: nothing mattered. Life in the end seemed a prank of such size you could only stand off at this end of the corridor to note its meaningless length and it's quite unnecessary height, a mountain built to such ridiculous immensities you were dwarfed in its shadow and mocking of its pomp.

I'm inclined to believe you need the psychiatrist.

It's important to read a book, but also to hold the book, to smell the book... it's perfume, it's incense, it's the dust of Egypt...

Hold the dark holiday in your palms, Bite it, swallow it and survive, Come out the far black tunnel of el Día de Muerte And be glad, ah so glad you are… alive! Calavera…Calavera…

That's sad, said Montag, quietly,(referring to The Hound) because all we put into it is hunting and finding and killing. What a shame if that's all it can ever know.

Kitaplar bize ne tür eÅŸekler ve aptallar olduÄŸumuzu hat?rlatmak içindir. Kitaplar, tören alay? büyük bir gürültü içinde caddede ilerlerken, Sezar'?n kula??na 'Unutma, Sezar, sen de ölümlüsün' diyen pretoryen muhaf?zlar?d?r.

There is no future for e-books, because they are not books. E-books smell like burned fuel.

Zest. Gusto. How rarely one hears these words used. How rarely do we see people living, or for that matter, creating, by them. Yet if I were asked to name the most important items in a writer's make-up, the things that shape his material and rush him along the road he wants to go. I would only warn him to look to his zest, see to his gusto.

I am a child of the poisonous wind that copulated with the East River on an oil-slick, garbage infested midnight. I turn about on my own parentage. I inoculate against those very biles that brought me to light. I am a serum born of venoms. I am the antibody of all Time. I am the Cure. You do of the City, do you not? Manhattan is your punisher, let me be you shield.

Who has more pockets than a magician? A boy. Whose pockets contain *more* than a magicians? A boy's.

The trouble with Jim was he looked at the world and could not look away. And when you never look away all your life, by the time you are thirteen you have done twenty years taking in the laundry of the world.

The library is always an adventure!

trees to cool the towns in the boiling summer, trees to hold back the winter winds. There were so many things a tree could do: add color, provide shade, drop fruit, or become a children's playground, a whole sky universe to climb and hang from; an architecture of food and pleasure, that was a tree. But most of all the trees would distill an icy air for the lungs, and a gentle rustling for the ear when you lay nights in your snowy bed and were gentled to sleep by the sound.

YOU CAN'T DEPEND ON PEOPLE BECAUSE... ...they go away. ...strangers die. ...people you know fairly well die. ...friends die. ...people murder people, like in books. ...your own folks can die. So...

Monday burn Millay, Wednesday Whitman, Friday Faulkner, burn 'em to ashes, then burn the ashes. That's our official slogan.

Any man who can take a TV wall apart and put it back together again, and most men can nowadays, is happier than any man who tries to slide-rule, measure, and equate the universe, which just won't be measured or equated without making man feel bestial and lonely.