He walked toward the corner, thinking little at all about nothing in particular.
He smelled of moon swamps and old Egyptian bandages. He was something found in museums, wrapped in nicotine linens, sealed in glass. But he was alive, puling like a babe, and shriveling unto death, fa...
He realized that all men were like this; that each person was to himself one alone. //In this instant it was an individual problem seeking an individual solution. He must accept being alone and work o...
He raged for hours. And the skeleton, ever the frail and solelmn philosopher, hung quietly inside, saying not a word, suspended like a delicate insect within a chrysalis, waiting and waiting.
He knew it would take as many years as could think of now to forget the tracks, no matter how deeply buried. Some morning in autumn, spring, or winter he kn he’d wake and, if he didn’t go near the win...
He hung up his black beetle-colored helmet and shined it; he hung his flameproof jacket neatly; he showed luxuriously, and then, whistling, hands in pockets, walked across the upper floor of the fire...
He held both hands over his eyes and applied a steady pressure there as if to crush memory into place.
He had felt a braveness which he had thought to be the genuine thing, and now he knew that it had been nothing but shock and the objectivity possible in shock.
He felt his smile slide away, melt, fold over and down on itself like a tallow skin, like the stuff of a fantastic candle burning too long and now collapsing and now blown out.
Granger stood looking at Montag. Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden...
Gardening is the handiest excuse for being a philosopher. Nobody guesses, nobody accuses, nobody knows, but there you are, Plato in the peonies, Socrates force-growing his own hem-lock. A man toting a...
For John was running, and this was terrible. Because if you ran, time ran. You yelled and screamed and raced and rolled and tumbled and all of a sudden the sun was gone and the whistle was blowing and...
Fire is bright and fire is clean. That way lies melancholy. Don't let the torrent of melancholy and drear philosophy drown our world.
Don’t see so much, Chris, your mind is too big for your body.’ I got a war on between a mind that wants things my body can’t give it.
Do we have the Book of Ecclesiastes?One. A man named Harris in Youngstown.Montag. Granger took Montag's shoulder firmly. Walk carefully. Guard your health. If anything should happen to Harris, you are...
Death was his little sister one morning when he awoke at the age of seven, looked into her crib, and saw her staring up at him with a blind, blue, fixed and frozen stare until the men came with a smal...
Death doesn't exist. It never did, it never will. But we've drawn so many pictures of it, so many years, trying to pin it down, comprehend it, we've got to thinking of it as an entity, strangely alive...
Cărțile nu erau decât un fel de receptacul în care oamenii înmagazinau o mulțime de cunoștințe pe care se temeau c-ar putea să le uite. Nu e nimic magic în cărți; magic e doar ceea ce spun cărțile și...
Come on, get up, get up, you can't just sit! But he was still crying and that had to be finished.
Come on now, we’re going to go build a mirror factory first and put out nothing but mirrors for the next year and take a long look in them.