Quotes About Change

Atibórralos de datos no combustibles, lánzales encima tantos hechos que se sientan abrumados, pero totalmente al día en cuanto a información. Entonces, tendrán la sensación de que piensan, tendrán la impresión de que se mueven sin moverse. Y serán felices, porque los hechos de esta naturaleza no cambian. No les des ninguna materia delicada como Filosofía o Sociología para que empiecen a atar cabos.

A story should be like a river, flowing and never stopping, your readers passengers on a boat, whirling downstream through constantly refreshing and changing scemery.

I don't know anything any more, he said, and let a sleep lozenge dissolve on his tongue

That's all science fiction was ever about. Hating the way things are, wanting to make things different.

Whatever she is now she's better than she was, said Bedloe. Being dead is better than being dull, being dead is better than not being aware.

I'm afraid of children my own age. They kill each other. Did it always use to be that way? My uncle says no. Six of my friends have been shot in the last year alone. Ten of them died in car wrecks. I'm afraid of them and they don't like me because I'm afraid. My uncle says his grandfather remembered when children didn't kill each other. But that was a long time ago when they had things different.

Thus with the wisest of you all; you are ever unfixed.

Over the years, they had destroyed all of him, removing hands, arms, and legs and leaving him with substitutes as delicate and useless as chess pieces. And now they were tampering with something more intangible--the memory; they were trying to cut the wires which led back into another year.

Then, in the twentieth century, speed up your camera. Books cut shorter. Condensations, Digests, Tabloids. Everything boils down to the gag, the snap ending.

My uncle says his grandfather remembered when children didn't kill each other. But that was a long time ago when they had things different. They believed in responsibility, my uncle says.

There it is. And he watched with now-gentle sorrow and now-quick delight, and at last quiet acceptance as all the bits and pieces of his house mixed, stirred, settled, poised, and ran steadily again. The Happiness Machine, he said. The Happiness Machine.

After all, when we had all the books we needed, we still insisted on finding the highest cliff to jump off. But we do need a breather. We do need knowledge. And perhaps in a thousand years we might pick smaller cliffs to jump off. Books are to remind us what asses and fools we are. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

It was a pleasure to burn. It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed.

My uncle says the architects got rid of the front porches because they didn't look well. But my uncle says that was merely rationalizing it; the real reason, hidden underneath, might be they didn't want people sitting like that, doing nothing, rocking, talking; that was the wrong kind of social life. People talked too much. And they had time to think.

Nothing ever likes to die — even a room.

My cowardice is such of passion, complimenting the revolutionary spirit that lives in its shadow.

A young reader finding this book today, or the day after tomorrow, is going to have to imagine first a past, and then a future that belongs to that past.

I think I begin to see where everything fell apart. The books I read, jetsam to you. Junk. Why didn't we realize that ten years back? Lots of things you don't notice when you're- he slowed- in love.

Somewhere on the Earth tonight, my Tylla, there is a Man with a Lever, which, when he pulls it, Will Save The World. The man is now unemployed. His switch gathers dust. He himself plays pinochle.

It fell to the floor, an exquisite thing, a small thing that could upset balances and knock down a line of small dominoes and then big dominoes and then gigantic dominoes, all down the years across Time. Eckels' mind whirled. It couldn't change things. Killing one butterfly couldn't be that important! Could it?

We never burned right.

When you're seventeen you know everything. When you're twenty-seven if you still know everything you're still seventeen.

Spring - und lass dir auf dem Weg nach unten Flügel wachsen

Maybe the books can get us half out of the cave. They just might stop us from making the same damn insane mistakes!