25
" There’s enough. It comes in the window and blows the curtains a little bit. Just enough to tell me.” “Look, why don’t you come and spend the night here?” said Herb Thompson looking around the lighted hall. “Oh, no. It’s too late for that. It might catch me on the way over. It’s a damned long distance. I wouldn’t dare, but thanks, anyway. It’s thirty miles, but thanks.” “Take a sleeping-tablet.” “I’ve been standing in the door for the past hour, Herb. I can see it building up in the west. There are some clouds there and I saw one of them kind of rip apart. There’s a wind coming, all right.” “Well, you just take a nice sleeping-tablet. And call me anytime you want to call. Later this evening if you want.” “Any time?” said the voice on the phone. “Sure.” “I’ll do that, but I wish you could come out. Yet I wouldn’t want you hurt. You’re my best friend and I wouldn’t want that. Maybe it’s best I face this thing alone. I’m sorry I bother you. "
― Ray Bradbury , Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales
30
" I remember once, when I lived in the Capital for a month and bought the paper fresh each day, I went wild with love, anger, irritation, frustration; all of the passions boiled in me. I was young. I exploded at everything I saw. But then I saw what I was doing: I was believing what I read. Have you noticed? You believe a paper printed on the very day you buy it? This has happened but only an hour ago, you think! It must be true.' He shook his head. 'So I learned to stand back away and let the paper age and mellow. Back here, in Colonia, I saw the headlines diminish to nothing. The week-old paper—why, you can spit on it if you wish. It is like a woman you once loved, but you now see, a few days later, she is not quite what you thought. She has rather a plain face. She is no deeper than a cup of water. "
― Ray Bradbury , Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales
34
" And still, strangely, they were not past the carnecería. The vision of red horror was on their left as they paced steadily forward on the hot tile sidewalk. The things that hung from hooks looked like brutalities and sins, like bad consciences, evil dreams, like gored flags and slaughtered promises. The redness, oh, the hanging, evil-smelling wetness and redness, the hooked and hung-high carcasses, unfamiliar, unfamiliar. "
― Ray Bradbury , Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales