...And Spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
(from There Will Come Soft Rains, story by Bradbury, poem by Sara Teasdale)
Ray Bradbury dies at 91 From the article: His legacy lives on in his monumental body of books, film, television and theater, but more importantly, in the minds and hearts of anyone who read
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Bradbury is the author who cemented my love for science fiction and taught me the joy and beauty of a finely crafted short story (not that I can write one myself worth a damn--I lack the gift for clarity, brevity, and the sort of magic that comes with a truly magnificent short story).
He lived long and prospered. Spock would be proud.
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THIS so much! I have a set of cassette tapes of Bradbury reading his own stories and giving a little insight into the writing or what the story meant to him. I'm always amazed to hear him say, "...and three hours later..." the story was finished. He must have had some childhood, because he writes the experiences of young boys so clear and poignantly it hurts.
Oh yes, what a life he lived!
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An event that won't take place again for over 100 years.
That's one hell of a tribute from the universe.
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That's it exactly. Whether he was describing the smell of grass or the intricacies of a tattoo, it was beautiful language.
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Peace
Kimber
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