The spark from your writing has lit an eternal flame of imagination in my mind.
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“That country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain.”
I'm just getting into Mr. Bradbury's works. I actually just picked up a copy of "Something Wicked This Way Comes". I can't wait to start reading it. Just the little bit that I've read from him, has introduced me to the beautiful imagery that he writes.
ReplyDeleteSomething wicKED this way comes....wonder where I got that ;)
DeleteBradbury was almost a Prophet.
DeleteIn a short story he wrote of Radio Watches TV adverts on Trains never getting a moments Quiet.
Great Stories many hugely poignant
I'm ashamed to say, I hadn't heard of Ray Bradbury until now.
ReplyDeleteHe definitely sounds worth reading though.
Thank you : )