“Something Wicked This Way Comes”

“But no man's a hero to himself. I've lived with me a lifetime. I know everything worth knowing about myself--"~Something Wicked This Way Comes”

“The Men of Earth came to Mars. They came because they were afraid or unafraid, because they were happy or unhappy, because they felt like Pilgrims or did not feel like Pilgrims. There was a reason for each man. They were leaving bad wives or bad towns; they were coming to find something or leave something or get something, to dig up something or bury something or leave something alone. They were coming with small dreams or large dreams or none at all...it was not unusual that the first men were few. The numbers grew steadily in proportion to the census of Earth Men already on Mars. There was comfort in numbers. But the first Lonely Ones had to stand by themselves...”

“It doesn't matter what you do...so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away.”

“A lot will be lost that way, of course.But you can't make people listen. They have to come round in their own time, wondering what happened and why the world blew up under them.”

“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there. It doesn't matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.”

“What did the others give to each other?Nothingness.Granger stood looking back with Montag. “Everyone must leave something behindwhen he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or awall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your handtouched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and whenpeople look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there. It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. Thedifference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in thetouching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; thegardener will be there a lifetime.”