“You really talk,” he said. “Compulsive,” I said.” “You’d make a lousy writer,” he said. “I never knew a writer yet who was a good talker.” - Ray Bradbury

Small man, great traveling doom—both weigh the same when the scale is death.

Any man who can take a TV wall apart and put it back together again, and most men can nowadays, is happier than any man who tries to slide-rule, measure, and equate the universe, which just won't be measured or equated without making man feel bestial and lonely.

Is it because we're having so much fun at home we've forgotten the world? Is it because we're so rich and the rest of the world's so poor and we just don't care if they are? I've heard rumors; the world is starving, but we're well fed. Is it true, the world works hard and we play? Is that why we're hated so much?