This is the perfect book to read outside on a beautiful summer day! 💕📚🌾☀️
When I first posted about Dandelion Wine, @kyraleseberg noted that it was her favorite book. Now that I'm done, I have to ask: Can I be in your club?!
If the title “On Time and Being“ weren't already taken, & if Bradbury were only a philosopher & not a novelist, as well, that's what Dandelion Wine would be called. It's a rumination on being alive & *knowing* it. It's wonderful, & awful (in the truest sense of the word), & a GORGEOUS summer read.
“In the singing deep night, in the shade of warm trees, as if she had laid herself out to enjoy the soft stars and the easy wind, her hands at either side of her like the oars of a delicate craft, lay Elizabeth Ramsell!”
He even makes the discovery of a dead body sound beautiful. 😭
“He had never approved of her bric-a-brackery. “Be what you are, bury what you are not,“ he had said. “Ticket stubs are trickery. Saving things is a magic trick, with mirrors...You're saving cocoons...Corsets, in a way, you can never fit again...You're not the dates or the ink or the paper. You're not these trunks of junk & dust. You're only you, here, now -- the present you.“
Is Ray Bradbury the original Marie Kondo?
“Finest lace there is,” said Dad quietly.
And he was gesturing up through the trees to show them how it was woven across the sky or how the sky was woven into the trees, he wasn‘t sure which.
**Note: I might have to ban myself from posting about this book. It‘s too much. Every sentence is perfect. Godammit, Ray Bradbury. 😭
“There were some days compounded completely of odor, nothing but the world blowing in one nostril & out the other. And some days...were days of hearing every trump and trill of the universe. Some days were good for tasting and some for touching. And some days were good for all the senses at once. The day now...smelled as if a great & nameless orchard had grown up overnight beyond the hills to fill the entire visible land with its warm freshness.”
Lunch break! Starting this beauty.
I‘ve loved everything I‘ve ever read by Ray Bradbury. I expect this to be no exception. The gorgeous cover art doesn‘t hurt. Is it just me, or is it begging to be tattooed? 🖤
No matter how hard you try be what you once were, you can only be what you are here and now. Time hypnotizes. When you‘re nine, you think you‘ve always been nine years old and always will be. When you‘re thirty, it seems you‘ve always balanced there on the bright rim of middle life. And when you turn seventy, you are always and forever seventy. You‘re in the present, you‘re trapped in a young now or an old now, but there is no other now to be seen
I'm 38 % through and bailing. Not because it isn't good, the writing is poetic actually, it is just making me feel melancholy as hell. So maybe I'll get back to it someday, but I just can't right now.
“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....Gardening is the handiest excuse for being a philosopher.”
#WanderingJune | 5: #SmallTownBoy
📷: Made with Typorama
#SongsOfSummer Day 4: #CruelSummer with the taste of Bradbury‘s Dandelion Wine. What I would give right now to have a taste from that bottle. But perhaps another air from another time gathered lovingly by another man‘s hands would be the one that would work best, who knows really with these things? Ray Bradbury is a gift. Each time I read him, I look at the world through a poet‘s eyes. My review: https://wp.me/pDlzr-5iL
The summer of ‘28 was a vintage season for a growing boy. A magical, timeless summer in the life of a twelve-year-old boy named Douglas Spaulding — remembered forever by the incomparable Ray Bradbury.
Fantastic novel. This would make a great summertime read. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
The story of a boy, a town, and a summer. Bradbury lovingly captures a boy soaking in the summer and making sure he captures his experiences. A nice read for when you‘re in the mood for thinking of your own childhood, and a reminder to keep traditions, but also have new adventures.
Traveled home to spend some time with my bff and turns out both my Aunt and Dad are reading Ray Bradbury too! #bradburyfamily #somethingwicked #dandelionwine #isingbodyelectric
I'm going to need to look up Bradbury Theater 🎥🎬
I really love this, in a way I didnt expect to even halfway through. Its an enlightening book, even 60 years on, looking at childhood and the move from ignorance to awareness of mortality, cut up by small stories exploring this.
#ReadingResolutions Day 19: Bradbury is a gift. Each time I read him, I look at the world through a poet‘s eyes. Everything is magnified as I taste Dandelion #Wine and its summer energies filling every fibre of my being with sunlight and starshine. My detailed review of the novel here: https://wp.me/pDlzr-5iL
There she sat in her glass coffin, night after night, her body melted by the carnival blaze of summer, frozen in the ghost winds of winter, waiting with her sickle smile and carved, hooked, and wax-poured nose hovering above her pale pink and wrinkled waxed hands poised forever above the ancient fanned-out deck of cards. The Tarot Witch. A delicious name. The Tarot Witch.
One of my top 10 favorite books. ReRead for the RandomCAT at #LibraryThing
You weren't kidding @TobeyTheScavengerMonk! What a glorious first paragraph!
My birthday view from this afternoon! My sweet husband took me into Austin to see the new Austin Central Library-which just made TIME Magazine's 2018 World's Greatest Places List. This is a view from the reading porch overlooking Town Lake. I‘ll share a few more pictures a bit later, it really is an incredible place!
“Tom grabbed his arm and pointed gasping, at the dime-store window. They stood there, unable to move because of the things from another world displayed so neatly, so innocently, so frighteningly, there.
‘Pencils, Doug, ten thousand pencils!‘
‘Oh, my gosh!‘
‘Nickel tablets, dime tablets, notebooks, erasers, water colors, rulers, compasses, a hundred thousand of them!‘
‘Don‘t look. Maybe it‘s just a mirage.‘”
One more week... #SummerOfShort
“Was there, then, no strength in growing up? No solace in being an adult? No sanctuary in life? No fleshly citadel strong enough to withstand the scrabbling assault of midnights? Doubts flushed him. Ice cream lived again in his throat, stomach, spine and limbs; he was instantly cold as a wind out of December gone.”
“The courthouse clock struck nine and it was getting late and it was really night on this small street in a small town in a big state on a large continent on a planet earth hurtling down the pit of space toward nowhere or somewhere and Tom feeling every mile of the long drop.”
“Here is my celebration, then, of death as well as life, dark as well as light, old as well as young, smart and dumb combined, sheer joy as well as complete terror...”
In the summer of 1928, in idyllic Green Town, Illinois, a 12-year-old boy learns that he is alive and that his life, like all summers, must end someday. Bradbury transmutes the simple joys of summer into epic poetry and I am a better person for having read it.
“...the mystery of man seizing from the land and the land seizing back, year after year... knowing the towns never really won, that they merely existed in calm peril, fully accoutered with lawn mower, bug spray and hedge shears, swimming steadily as long as civilization said to swim, but each house ready to sink in green tides, buried forever, when the the last man ceased and his trowels and mowers shattered to cereal flakes of rust.”
“‘Every year,‘ said Grandfather. ‘They run amuck; I let them. Pride of lions in the yard. Stare, and they burn a hole in your retina. A common flower, a weed that no one sees, yes. But for us, a noble thing, the dandelion.‘”
“And he was gesturing up through the trees above to show them how it was woven across the sky or how the sky was woven into the trees, he wasn‘t sure which. But there it was, he smiled, and the weaving went on, green and blue, if you watched and saw the forest shift its humming loom.”