Still the city waited. The winds that had been young and wild grew old and serene, and the clouds of the sky that had been ripped and torn were left alone to drift in idle whitenesses. Still the city waited. The city waited with its windows and its black obsidian walls and its sky towers and its unpennanted turrets, with its untrod streets and its untouched doorknobs, with not a scrap of paper or a fingerprint upon it. The city waited while the planet arced in space, following its orbit about a blue-white sun, and the seasons passed from ice to fire and back to ice and then to green fields and yellow summer meadows.
Young writers learn the art by studying the form and style of the greats.
I have always thought Bradbury was among the best at social comment, descriptive faculty, and efficient storytelling. If science fiction were more acceptable as standard material, I'm sure the study of his work would be more than an afterthought. Re-reading The Illustrated Man for this review was no chore, any more than viewing yet another Monet painting. It is a true classic. Bradbury is the master of the short story and you won't be disappointed by any of these 18 gems.