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My doctor friend who I frequently chat with at work had a copy of The Illustrated Man yesterday, and we ended up talking about Ray Bradbury for a while. I gushed about his writing style and how much I loved his work. The doctor, who is Ukrainian, was not very familiar with Bradbury, but is an inveterate book lover who is always buying classic texts for his own large collection, mostly on the topics of cognition and childhood development, though I've also pointed him at some books on electronics, infrastructure, and similar.

I told him that Fahrenheit 451 is basically written for people like him and he needs to read it ASAP. He told me about having a signed Bradbury book at home, and I told him how floored I was by having had the chance to handle some of Bradbury's typed correspondence while working at the archives at UWP; how amazing it was to hold these letters that Bradbury had personally typed on his typewriter and embellished with little doodles. The doctor said he'd bring his signed book for me to look at.

He handed it to me this morning and said "For you!" I froze and tried to make sure I understood correctly. Then I tried to say something and failed. I'm pretty sure that's the first time in my life I've been left literally speechless by a gift. I kept starting sentences that I couldn't find second words for. "Me? What? How....? Why? Really? Wow!"

So I have a signed copy of Quicker than the Eye now. The front dust jacket flap begins with this quotation:

"I have been accused of that capital crime which deserves capital punishment: I have committed optimism."

The world seems a little brighter today.