The Illustrated Man

by Ray Bradbury

“And I do not want to be dead, either. But I am not twenty-three. How can I answer? What do I do?”

We theorize about what goes on in the brain, but it is mostly undiscovered country.

Students across country performed the story in class, to teach me once again that theater doesn’t need sets, lights, costumes, or sound. Just actors in school or in someone’s garage or storefront speaking the lines and sensing the passion.

The more I see of the mess we’ve put ourselves in, the more it sickens me. We’ve been contemplating our mechanical, electronic navels for too long. My God, how we need a breath of honest air!”

When life is over it is like a flicker of bright film, an instant on the screen, all of its prejudices and passions condensed and illumined for an instant on space, and before you could cry out, “There was a happy day, there a bad one, there an evil face, there a good one,” the film burned to a cinder, the screen went dark.

There were differences between memories and dreams.

And what happens next is up to all of us. The time for being fools is over. We got to be something else except fools.

“What would you do if you knew that this was the last night of the world?”

Nothing else but this could have happened from the way we’ve lived.”

I suppose that’s the trouble—we haven’t been very much of anything except us, while a big part of the world was busy being lots of quite awful things.”

I think the only way we can grow and get on in this world is to accept the fact we’re not perfect and live accordingly.”

Everyone has a little touch of space the first time out. I’ve had it. You get wildly philosophical, then frightened. You break into a sweat, then you doubt your parentage, you don’t believe in Earth, you get drunk, wake up with a hang-over, and that’s it.”

There was the universal, quiet conceit and easiness of men accustomed to peace, quite certain there would never be trouble again.

Sometimes children loved you, hated you—all in half a second.