Ray Bradbury

Jump, and you will find out how to unfold your wings as you fall.

May you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.

Get the big truth first. If you get the big truth, the small truths will accumulate around it.

I discovered very early on that if you wanted a thing, you went for it - and you got it. Most people never go anywhere, or want anything - so they never get anything.

My passions drive me to the typewriter every day of my life, and they have driven me there since I was twelve. So I never have to worry about schedules. Some new thing is always exploding in me, and it schedules me, I don’t schedule it. It says: Get to the typewriter right now and finish this.

Do what you love and love what you do. Don’t do anything for money. Everything should be for love.

Everything of mine is permeated with my love of ideas-both big and small. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as it grabs me and holds me, facinates me. And then I'll run out and something about it... I write for fun.

This is the emotional thing, you see - you must galvanize people, so they want to be completely alive and live forever, or the next thing to it. And out of that comes art, then, and survival through emotion.

Day, after day, after glorious day, I was falling in love with books.

What is The Subconscious to every other man, in its creative aspect becomes, for writers, The Muse.

Just write every day of your life. Read intensely.

A book has got to smell. You have to hold it in your hands and pray to it.

We meet on the common ground of an uncommon age and share out our gifts of dark and light, good and bad, simple joy and not so simple sorrow.

So there you have it, a lifetime of first smelling the books, they all smell wonderful, reading the books, loving the books, and remembering the books.

Halloween. Sly does it. Tiptoe catspaws. Slide and creep. But why? What for? How? Who? When! Where did it all begin? 'You don't know, do you?' asks Carapace Clavicle Moundshroud climbing out under the pile of leaves under the Halloween Tree. 'You don't really know!'

Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. 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.

Man has always been half-monster, half-dreamer.

The blizzard doesn't last forever; it just seems so.

How to feel your way toward something honest, hidden under the trapdoor on the top of your skull.

They stood there, King of the Hill, Top of the Heap, Ruler of All They Surveyed, Unimpeachable Monarchs and Presidents, trying to understand what it meant to own a world and how big a world really was.

If you're reluctant to weep, you won't live a full and complete life.