Snippets #48

The Illustrated Man-Ray Bradbury

From Short Story, The Concrete Mixer

All that he really knew was that if he stayed here he would soon be the property of a lot of things that buzzed and snorted and hissed, that gave off fumes or stenches. In six months he would be the owner of a large pink, trained ulcer, a blood pressure of algebraic dimensions, a myopia this of blindness, and nightmares as deep as oceans and infested with impossible lengths of dream intestines through which he must violently force his way each night. No, no. (151)

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Snippets #47

The Illustrated Man-Ray Bradbury

From Short Story, The Exiles

“I repeat, I am not of you, I don’t approve of you and the others,” cried Dickens angrily. “I was no player with witches and vampires and midnight things.”

“What of A Christmas Carol?”

“Ridiculous! One story. Oh, I wrote a few others about ghosts, perhaps, but what of that? My basic works had none of that nonsense!”

“Mistaken or not, they grouped you with us. They destroyed your books–your worlds too. You must hate them, Mr. Dickens!”

“I admit they are stupid and rude, but that is all. Good day!”

“Let Mr, Marley come, at least!”

“No!”

(101)