Quotes About Transformation

She knew a thing she should have known all along: that dead people are like wax memory-you take them in your mind, you shape and squeeze them, push a bump here, stretch one out there, pull the body tall, shape and reshape, handle, sculp and finish a man-memory until he's all out of kilter.

Burn 'em to ashes, then burn the ashes.

The August noon in us works to stave off the November chills. We survive by what little Fourth of July wits we've stashed away. But there are times when we're all autumn people.

Nothing ever likes to die--not even a room. (p.23 --> The Veldt)

If this goes on . . ." fiction takes an element of life today, something clear and obvious and normally something troubling, and asks what would happen if that thing, that one thing, became bigger, became all-pervasive, changed the way we thought and behaved.

Throughout his life, Bradbury liked to recount the story of meeting a carnival magician, Mr. Electrico, in 1932. At the end of his performance Electrico reached out to the twelve-year-old Bradbury, touched the boy with his sword, and commanded, Live forever! Bradbury later said, I decided that was the greatest idea I had ever heard. I started writing every day. I never stopped.

No matter how we touch Mars, we'll never touch it. And then we'll get mad at it, and you know what we'll do? We'll rip it up, rip the skin off, and change it to fit ourselves.

And then he was a shrieking blaze, a jumping, sprawling gibbering manikin, no longer human or known, all writhing flame on the lawn as Montag shot one continuous pulse of liquid fire on him.

The suit caught light and stirred like a bed of black tweed-thorns, interminably itching, covering the man's long body with motion so it seemed he should excruciate, cry out, and tear the clothes free.

Montag looked at the river. We'll go on the river. He looked at the old railroad tracks. Or we'll go that way. Or we'll walk on the highways now, and we'll have time to put things into ourselves. And someday, after it sets in us a long time, it'll come out our hands and our mouths. And a lot of it will be wrong, but just enough of it will be right.

The rockets came like locusts, swarming and settling in blooms of rosy smoke. And from the rockets ran men with hammers in their hands to beat the strange world into a shape that was familiar to the eye, to bludgeon away all the strangeness, their mouths fringed with nails so

A machine, now, to help boys change from peach fuzz to briar bramble, girls from toadstools to nectarine.

The numbness will go away, he thought. It'll take time, but I'll do it, or Faber will do it for me. Someone somewhere will give me back the old face and the old hands the way they were. Even the smile, he thought, the old burnt-in smile, that's gone. I'm lost without it

Let me make it clear. People die every day, psychologically speaking. Some part of them gets tired.

The winds that had been young and wild grew old and serene

Khóa kéo thay cho cúc áo và con ng??i ta m?t Ä'i ng?n Ä'ó th?i gian suy nghÄ© trong khi thay ?? vào bu?i sáng, má»™t gi? tri?t lý, và do v?y là má»™t gi? s?u muá»™n.

What is fire? ...It's real beauty is that it destroys responsibility and consequences.

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. It doesn't matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away.

Mais on ne peut pas forcer les gens à écouter. Il faut qu'ils changent d'avis à leur heure, quand ils se demanderont ce qui s'est passé et pourquoi le monde a explosé sous leurs pieds. Ça ne peut pas durer éternellement.

This car," he said, "somewhere along the way does it turn into a plane?" "I don't know," I said. "Somewhere along the way do you turn into my pilot?" "It could be. I've never done this before." "But you're willing to try?" I nodded.

He shaped the world. He did things to the world. The world was bankrupted of ten million fine actions the night he passed on.

Burn them all, burn everything. Fire is bright and fire is clean.

He surveyed the lake of grass below, all the dandelions gone, a touch of rust in the trees, and the smell of Egypt blowing from the far east.

It doesn't matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away.