Book: The Martian Chronicles

He turned around - his face was devoid of any expression mask, made from a silver metal mask that he always wore when he wanted to hide his feelings.

The tree, something which only it can't... you can paint nature, stretches out the shadow, usypal the earth with fruit. Or becomes the realm of children's games - a celestial world where you can climb, to play, to hang on hand... a Magnificent structure that carries food and joy, that is a tree. But above all, trees are a source of life - giving cool air to the lungs and the gentle rustling, which coddles your ears and lulls you at night when you're lying in a snow-white bed.

I dreamt about the man.
A man?
- A tall man, six feet one inch.
- What kind of absurd; a giant, a freak.
- For some reason, she tried the words, he looked all right. Despite the high growth. And he had -- Oh, I know you'll think it nonsense, he had blue eyes!
Blue eyes! 'cried Mr K. - Oh gods!
What you dream of next time? You still say black hair?
- How did you guess?! she exclaimed.
Just called the least believable color dryly, he replied.
Yes, black hair! - she shouted. And very white skin. Absolutely extraordinary man! He was wearing strange clothes, and he came down from the sky and spoke pleasantly to me.

Your insanity is beautifully complete!

The Earthmen came to Mars. Flew, because were afraid of something and afraid of nothing because I was happy and unhappy, felt like pilgrims or did not feel like pilgrims. Each had their own reason. Left hateful wives, or hateful work, or the drudgery of the city, came to find something, or get rid of something, or to get something, to dig up something or bury something or consign something to oblivion. Came with high expectations, little expectations, no expectations.

It's not every day a second attempt.

... in the dead cities for some reason, want to whisper, I want to watch the sunset.

... for the night - time yearning, and metamorphosis.

She kept looking forward, some looking for, but could not see and turned to her husband; in his eyes she saw the reflection of what is ahead, and it is this reflection added something from himself, his strong resolve, and the tension eased from her face, she turned back forward, now knowing what she looking for.

- Why are you crying? he asked.
- Don't know, I can't help myself. I'm sad, and I don't know why I'm crying - I don't know why, but crying.

And can one man be right when the whole world is convinced that they are right?

We're just kids in short pants, noisy and restless children who rush with their missile and nuclear toys.

You can see how the floating thoughts in her eyes, like fish, some bright, others dark, some fast, furious, others slow, unhurried.

Ask me if I believe in the spirit of the things in them by those who used them, and I'll say Yes.