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- Рэй Брэдбери
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- Стр. 105/287
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"
Only
when
it
paid
to
be
naive
.
They
quit
trying
too
hard
to
destroy
everything
,
to
humble
everything
.
They
blended
religion
and
art
and
science
because
,
at
base
,
science
is
no
more
than
an
investigation
of
a
miracle
we
can
never
explain
,
and
art
is
an
interpretation
of
that
mirade
.
They
never
let
science
crush
the
aesthetic
and
the
beautiful
.
It
’
s
all
simply
a
matter
of
degree
.
An
Earth
Man
thinks
:
«
In
that
picture
,
color
does
not
exist
,
really
.
A
scientist
can
prove
that
color
is
only
the
way
the
cells
are
placed
in
a
certain
material
to
reflect
light
.
Therefore
,
color
is
not
really
an
actual
part
of
things
I
happen
to
see
.
»
A
Martian
,
far
cleverer
,
would
say
:
«
This
is
a
fine
picture
.
It
came
from
the
hand
and
the
mind
of
a
man
inspired
.
Its
idea
and
its
color
are
from
life
.
This
thing
is
good
.
»
"
There
was
a
pause
.
Sitting
in
the
afternoon
sun
,
the
captain
looked
curiously
around
at
the
little
silent
cool
town
.
"
I
’
d
like
to
live
here
,
"
he
said
.
"
You
may
if
you
want
.
"
"
You
ask
me
that
?
"
"
Will
any
of
those
men
under
you
ever
really
understand
all
this
?
They
’
re
professional
cynics
,
and
it
’
s
too
late
for
them
.
Why
do
you
want
to
go
back
with
them
?
So
you
can
keep
up
with
the
Joneses
?
To
buy
a
gyro
just
like
Smith
has
?
To
listen
to
music
with
your
pocketbook
instead
of
your
glands
?
There
’
s
a
little
patio
down
here
with
a
reel
of
Martian
music
in
it
at
least
fifty
thousand
years
old
.
It
still
plays
.
Music
you
’
ll
never
hear
in
your
life
.
You
could
hear
it
.
There
are
books
.
I
’
ve
gotten
on
well
in
reading
them
already
.
You
could
sit
and
read
.
"
"
It
all
sounds
quite
wonderful
,
Spender
.
"
"
But
you
won
’
t
stay
?
"
"
No
.
Thanks
,
anyway
.
"
