Dandelion Wine Quotes

“And there, row upon row, with the soft gleam of flowers opened at morning, with the light of this June sun glowing through a faint skin of dust, would stand the dandelion wine. Peer through it at the wintry day - the snow melted to grass, the trees were reinhabitated with bird, leaf, and blossoms like a continent of butterflies breathing on the wind. And peering through, color sky from iron to blue.

Hold summer in your hand, pour summer in a glass, a tiny glass of course, the smallest tingling sip for children; change the season in your veins by raising glass to lip and tilting summer in”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“I got a statistic for you right now. Grab your pencil, Doug. There are five billion trees in the world. I looked it up. Under every tree is a shadow, right? So, then, what makes night? I'll tell you: shadows crawling out from under five billion trees! Think of it! Shadows running around in the air, muddying the waters you might say. If only we could figure a way to keep those darn five billion shadows under those trees, we could stay up half the night, Doug, because there'd be no night!”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“The world, like a great iris of an even more gigantic eye, which has also just opened and stretched out to encompass everything, stared back at him.”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“June dawns, July noons, August evenings over, finished, done, and gone forever with only the sense of it all left here in his head. Now, a whole autumn, a white winter, a cool and greening spring to figure sums and totals of summer past. And if he should forget, the dandelion wine stood in the cellar, numbered huge for each and every day. He would go there often, stare straight into the sun until he could stare no more, then close his eyes and consider the burned spots, the fleeting scars left dancing on his warm eyelids; arranging, rearranging each fire and reflection until the pattern was clear...
So thinking, he slept.
And, sleeping, put an end to Summer, 1928.”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“God bless the lawn mower, he thought. Who was the fool who made January first New Year’s Day? No, they should set a man to watch the grasses across a million Illinois, Ohio, and Iowa lawns, and on that morning when it was long enough for cutting, instead of ratchets and horns and yelling, there should be a great swelling symphony of lawn mowers reaping fresh grass upon the prairie lands. Instead of confetti and serpentine, people should throw grass spray at each other on the one day each year that really represents Beginning!”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“Oh, the luxury of lying in the fern night and the grass night and the night of the susurrant, slumbrous voices weaving the night together.”
― Ray Bradbury

“Whoever he was or whatever he was and no matter how different and crazy he seemed, he was not crazy.”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“...why not let nature show you a few things? Cutting grass and pulling weeds can be a way of life... Lilacs on a bush are better than orchids. And dandelions and devil grass are better! Why? Because they bend you over and turn you away from all the people and the town for a little while and sweat you and get you down where you remember you got a nose again. And when you're all to yourself that way, you're really yourself for a little while; you get to thinking things through, alone. Gardening is the handiest excuse for being a philosopher. Nobody guesses, nobody accuses, nobody knows, but there you are, Plato in the peonies, Socrates force-growing his own hemlock. A man toting a sack of blood manure across his lawn is kin to Atlas letting the world spin easy on his shoulder. As Samuel Spaudling, Esquire, once said, 'Dig in the earth, delve in the soul.' Spin those mower blades, Bill, and walk in the spray of the Fountain of Youth.”
― Ray Bradbury

“Young man,' she said to Bill Forrester, 'you are a person of taste and imagination. Also, you have the will power of ten men; otherwise you would not dare veer away from the common flavors listed on the menu and order, straight out, without quibble or reservation, such an unheard-of things as lime-vanilla ice.'
He bowed his head solemnly to her.
'Come sit with me, both of you,' she said. 'We'll talk of strange ice creams and such things as we seem to have a bent for.”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“About this grass now. I didn't finish telling. It grows so close it's guaranteed to kill off clover and dandelions-"
"Great God in heaven! That means no dandelion wine next year! That means no bees crossing our lot! You're out of your mind, son”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“Somewhere, a book said once, all the talk ever talked, all the songs ever sung, still lived, had vibrated way out in space and if you could travel to Far Centauri you could hear George Washington talking in his sleep or Caesar surprised at the knife in his back. So much for sounds. What about light then? All things, once seen, they didn't just die, that couldn't be. It must be then that somewhere, searching the world, perhaps in the dripping multiboxed honeycombs where light was an amber sap stored by pollen-fired bees, or in the thirty thousand lenses of the noon dragonfly's gemmed skull you might find all the colors and sights of the world in any one year. Or pour one single drop of this dandelion wine beneath a microscope and perhaps the entire world of July Fourth would firework out in Vesuvius showers.”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“Вземайти всичко, каквото поискате, при условие, че наистина го желаете. Ето как ще разберете. Попитвате се: "Искам ли това нещо от цялото си сърце? Бих ли могъл да преживея този ден без него?" И ако усетите, че без него до залез слънце ще сте се повалили мъртви, грабвате скъпоценното нещо и си го отнасяте с вас.”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“Where, where all the summer dogs leaping like dolphins in the wind-braided and unbraided tides of what? Where lightning smell of Green Machine or trolley? Did the wine remember? It did not? Or seemed not, anyway.
Somewhere, a book said once, all the talk ever talked, all the songs ever sung, still lived, had vibrated way out in space and if you could travel to Far Centauri you could hear George Washington talking in his sleep or Caesar surprised at the knife in his back. So much for sounds. What about light then? All things, once seen, they didn't just die, that couldn't be. It must be then that somewhere, searching the world, perhaps in the dripping multiboxed honeycombs where light was an amber sap stored by pollen-fired bees, or in the thirty thousand lenses of the noon dragonfly's hemmed skull you might find all the colors and sights of the world in any one year. Or pour one single drop of this dandelion wine beneath a microscope and perhaps the entire world of July Fourth would firework out in Vesuvius showers. This he would have to believe.
And yet... looking here at this bottle which by its number signalized the day when Colonel Freeleigh had stumbled and fallen six feet into the earth, Douglas could not find so much as a gram of dark sediment, not a speck of the great flouring buffalo dust, not a flake of sulphur from the guns at Shiloh...”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“Я не повинен забути, що я живий, я ж тепер знаю, що живий, і не повинен забути про це ні сьогодні, ні завтра, ні післязавтра.”
― Рей Бредбері, Dandelion Wine

“Копаючи землю, ти копаєшся і в своїй душі”
― Рей Бредбері, Dandelion Wine

“Тіло живе лише задля себе. Воно тільки те й робить, що їсть, п'є і чекає, коли настане ніч. Бо самою своєю суттю належить ночі. А дух, Вільяме, народжений від сонця, і йому призначено бути невсипущим і допитливим багато тисяч годин нашого життя.”
― Рей Бредбері, Dandelion Wine

“Людина, яка має нащадків, ніколи не вмре.”
― Рей Бредбері, Dandelion Wine