But why, why all the hurt? Because, said Mr. Halloway. You need fuel, gas, someting to run a carnival on, don't you? Women live off gossip, and what's gossip but a swap of headaches, sour spit, arthri...
But three, now, Christ three A.M.! Doctors say the body's at low tide then. The soul is out. The blood moves slow. You're the nearest to dead you'll ever be save dying. Sleep is a patch of death, but...
But this was like old movies, the silent theater haunted with black-and-white ghosts, silvery mouths opening to let moonlight smoke out, gestures made in silence so hushed you could hear the wind fizz...
Because I wanted to do, I did. Where I wanted to feed, I fed.
Any man who keeps working is not a failure. He may not be a great writer, but if he applies the old-fashioned virtues of hard, constant labor, he'll eventually make some kind of career for himself as...
And suddenly everything, absolutely everything, was there.
And finally, have you trained well enough so you can say what you want to say without getting hamstrung? Have you written enough so that you are relaxed and can allow the truth to get out without bein...
And don't look to be saved in any one thing, person, machine or library.
And Will? Why, he’s the last peach, high on a summer tree. Some boys walk by and you cry, seeing them. They feel good, they look good, they are good. Oh, they’re not above peeing off a bridge, or stea...
A woman's voice answered, Hello?Walter cried back at her, Hello, oh Lord, hello!This is a recording, recited the woman's voice. Miss Helen Arasumian is not home. Will you leave a message on the wire s...
It is a wise writer who knows his own subconscious.
When I was a boy my grandfather died, and he was a sculptor. He was also a very kind man who had a lot of love to give the world, and he helped clean up the slum in our town; and he made toys for us a...
You must write every single day of your life... You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads... may you be i...
Love. Fall in love and stay in love. Write only what you love, and love what you write. The word is love. You have to get up in the morning and write something you love, something to live for.
— Ei bine, în definitiv, trăim în epoca materialelor de unică folosinţă. Omul de azi e ca un șervețel de hârtie. Îţi sufli nasul pe cineva, faci haina cocoloş şi o arunci la toaletă, te duci la altul,...
–¿A la gente de color no le gusta El negrito Sambo? Quémalo. ¿Los blancos se sienten incómodos con La cabaña del tío Tom? Quémalo. ¿Alguien escribió una obra acerca del tabaco y el cáncer pulmonar? ¿L...
–Todos deben dejar algo al morir, decía mi abuelo. Un niño o un libro o un cuadro o una casa o una pared o un par de zapatos. O un jardín. Algo que las manos de uno han tocado de algún modo. El alma t...
فيا أيها الكتاب ذوى الأفكار الشريرة أوقفوا آلاتكم الكاتبة .. و توقفت بالفعل الآلات الكاتبة ، أصبحت المجلات هى الصنف المحبب و كأنها التيبوكة بالفانيليا و خطفت الأضواء من الكتب و راح النقاد عليهم اللعنة...
Хиляда литра чай и петстотин бисквити стигат за едно приятелство.
Солнце горит каждый день. Оно сжигает Время. Вселенная несется по кругу и вертится вокруг своей оси.Время сжигает годы и людей, сжигает само, без помощи Монтэга. А если он, Монтэг, вместе с другими по...