Snippets #49

A Medicine for Melancholy-Ray Bradbury

From short story, A Scent of Sarsaparilla

It’s not impossible, he thought, half closing his eyes, trying to see it and built it. Consider an attic. Its very atmosphere is Time. It deals in other years, the cocoons and chrysalises of another age. All the bureau drawers are little coffins where a thousand yesterdays lie in state. Oh, the attic’s a dark, friendly place, full of Time, and if you stand in the very center of it, straight and tall, squinting your eyes, and thinking and thinking, and smelling the Past, and putting out your hands to feel of Long Ago, why, it… (102)

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