I have to tell them that last night was a shameful train wreck filled with blind cuddly puppies.

When young I did my best to undo that bit of the British Empire I found myself in: that is, old Southern Rhodesia.

Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Silently, in a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its loose brown graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of wetted ashes.

Written By Ray Bradbury

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