‘’And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn’t crying for him at all, but for the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again, he would never carve another piece of wood or help us raise doves and pigeons in the backyard or play the violin the way he did, or tell us jokes the way he did. He was part of us and when he died, all the actions stopped dead and there was no one to do them the way he did. He was individual. He was an important man. I’ve never gotten over his death. Often I think what wonderful carvings never came to birth because he died. How many jokes are missing from the world, and how many homing pigeons untouched by his hands? He shaped the world. He did things to the world. The world was bankrupted of ten million fine actions the night he passed on.”
Ray Bradbury-Fahrenheit 451
Ray Bradbury died today at the age of 91. The first Ray Bradbury book I ever read was Something Wicked This Way Comes and I quickly devoured the rest of his books. I don’t know if there is a God or not, a heaven or a hell, and it isn’t for me to say whether there is or not but if there is anything lying in wait for Ray Bradbury beyond this life, I hope he is somewhere that is as crazily insane and fantastic as his books are.