I know this will not be the only sappy post about Ray Bradbury today, but I also don't think I can let the sun go down without posting something, if only for myself.
I feel like there will always be authors whose deaths bring me to tears. It's so interesting how we let books into our hearts—their stories, their characters, their morals—and how greatly they can impact us. And each time one of writers dies, one of these writers that we have become so intimately attached to without even meeting them, it simultaneously breaks my heart and makes me so incredibly overjoyed that they were able to contribute to the world in such a powerful way.
Since I didn't even read "Fahrenheit 451" until last spring, I never thought Ray Bradbury could be one of those authors for me. But he has suddenly become one and once again, I want to simultaneously mourn and celebrate.
To look back, here's how reading "Fahrenheit 451" impacted me just over a year ago, and why I think the burning of books is still such a powerful statement during an age of e-readers.
And also, Adam Johnson's absolutely beautiful Ray Bradbury covers.