And if it’s around October twentieth and everything smoky-smelling and the sky orange and ash gray at twilight, it seems Halloween will never come in a fall of broomsticks and a soft flap of bed-sheet...
And fiction gives us empathy: it puts us inside the minds of other people, gives us the gift of seeing the world through their eyes.
And a last thought from Tom: O Mr. Moundshroud, will we EVER stop being afraid of nights and death? And the thought returned: When you reach the stars, boy, yes, and live there forever, all the fears...
And I saw then and there you take a man half-bad and a women half-bad and put their two good halves together and you got one human all good to share between.
All the things which had uses. All the mountains which had names. We'll give them new names, but the old names are there, somewhere in time... -Bradbury, The Martian Chronicles
All the things in life that were put here to savor, you eliminate.Save time, save work, you say. He nudged the grass trays disrespectfully. Bill, whenyou’re my age, you’ll find out it’s the little sav...
All of us improbable to one another because we are not present to one another
All I know is I feel good going to bed nights, Doug. That's a happy ending once a day. Next morning I'm up and maybe things go bad. But all I got to do is remember that I'm going to bed that night and...
Ah, no, ah, no. There, senor, you would be wrong. Knowing that after the first year the rent is liable not to be paid, we bury the poorest two feet down. It is less work, you understand? of course, we...
Acting without knowing takes you right off the cliff.
AT DAWN, a juggernaut of thunder wheeled over the stony heavens in a spark-throwing tumult. Rain fell softly on town cupolas, chuckled from rainspouts, and spoke in strange subterranean tongues beneat...
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.
A train has a poor memory; it soon puts all behind it.
A regrettable situation, said Bierce, smiling, for the Yuletide merchants who, toward the last there, as I recall, were beginning to put up holly and sing Noel the day before Halloween. With any luck...
A red ganglion, no bigger than a scarlet thread, snapped and quivered; a nerve, no greater than a red linen fiber twisted. Deep in her one little mech was gone and the entire machine, imbalanced, was...
Love cushions all your irritations, unnatural instincts, hatreds and immaturities.
Passing swiftly on toward further darknesses, but moving also toward a new sun.
Останал сам, имаш възможност да обмислиш нещата из основи.
Don't think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It's self-conscious and anything self-conscious is lousy. You can't "try" to do things. You simply "must" do things.
Love is easy, and I love writing. You can't resist love. You get an idea, someone says something, and you're in love.