R.I.P. Ray Bradbury

“If we listened to our intellect we'd never have a love affair. We'd never have a friendship. We'd never go in business because we'd be cynical: "It's gonna go wrong." Or "She's going to hurt me." Or,"I've had a couple of bad love affairs, so therefore . . ." Well, that's nonsense. You're going to miss life. You've got to jump off the cliff all the time and build your wings on the way down.”

"At the end of one long canal you could find old circus wagons that had been rolled and dumped, and, in the cages, at midnight, if you looked, things lived; fish and crayfish moving with the tide, and it was all the circuses of time somehow gone to doom and rusting aay. And there was a loud avalanche of big red trolley car that rushed towards the sea every half-hour and at midnight skirted the curve and threw sparks on the high wirees and rolled away with a moan which was like the dead turning in their sleep, as if the trolley and the lonely men who swayed steering them knew that in another year they would be gone, the tracks covered with concrete and tar and the high spider-wire collected on rolls and spirited away. And it was the time, in one of those lonely yea when the fog never ended and the winds never stopped their laments, that riding the old red trolley, the high bucketing thunder, one night I met up with Death's friend and didn't know it." 

Ray Bradbury, Death Is A Lonely Business, London: Grafton Books, 1985, p. 7

J'ai longtemps eu envie de traduire ce livre, rendre sa lourde et attachante respiration -- mais rien que le titre est un cauchemar...