Dalibor Dado Ivanovic

“One minute it was Ohio winter, with doors closed, windows locked, the panes blind with frost, icicles fringing every roof, children skiing on slopes, housewives lumbering like great black bears in their furs along the icy streets.
And then a long wave of warmth crossed the small town. A flooding sea of hot air; it seemed as if someone had left a bakery door open. The heat pulsed among the cottages and bushes and children. The icicles dropped, shattering, to melt. The doors flew open. The windows flew up. The children worked off their wool clothes. The housewives shed their bear disguises. The snow dissolved and showed last summer's ancient green lawns.
Rocket summer. The words passed among the people in the open, airing houses. Rocket summer. The warm desert air changing the frost patterns on the windows, erasing the art work. The skis and sleds suddenly useless. The snow, falling from the cold sky upon the town, turned to a hot rain before it touched the ground.
Rocket summer. People leaned from their dripping porches and watched the reddening sky.
The rocket lay on the launching field, blowing out pink clouds of fire and oven heat. The rocket stood in the cold winter morning, making summer with every breath of its mighty exhausts. The rocket made climates, and summer lay for a brief moment upon the land....”
― Ray Bradbury, The Martian Chronicles

“The first contact between people and a being from another planet took place under unusual circumstances: with an armed and ready gun, in silence, in the presence of Christianity and Islam, and the inability to communicate.”
― Ivan Lutz, Zovite ju Zemlja

“I tako, kad se već činilo da imam cijelu kuću na raspolaganju, odlučih se vratiti u knjižnicu i vidjeti što mogu otkriti. Osim toga, volim knjižnice. Osjećam se ugodno i sigurno okružen sa svih strana zidovima od riječi, predivnih i mudrih. Uvijek se osjećam bolje kad mogu vidjeti da postoji nešto što rastjeruje tamu.”
― Roger Zelazny , Nine Princes in Amber

“Ask me, then, if I believe in the spirit of the things as they were used, and I'll say yes. They're all here. All the things which had uses. All the mountains which had names. And we'll never be able to use them without feeling uncomfortable. And somehow the mountains will never sound right to us; we'll give them new names, but the old names are there, somewhere in time, and the mountains were shaped and seen under those names. The names we'll give to the canals and mountains and cities will fall like so much water on the back of a mallard. No matter how we touch Mars, we'll never touch it. And then we'll get mad at it, and you know what we'll do? We'll rip it up, rip the skin off, and change it to fit ourselves.”
― Ray Bradbury, The Martian Chronicles