Bet I know something else you don’t. There’s dew on the grass in the morning.
What could he say in a single word, a few words, that would sear all their faces and wake them up?
In the late afternoon it rained and the entire world was dark grey. He stood in the hall of his house, putting on his badge with the orange salamander burning across it.
Once he saw her shaking a walnut tree, he saw her sitting on the lawn knitting a blue sweater, three or four times he found a bouquet of late flowers on his porch, or a handful of chestnuts in a little sack, or some autumn leaves neatly pinned to a sheet of white paper and thumb-tacked to his door.
What’s worse than a Protestant? A Unitarian! It was no church and no faith at all.
Devo vedere il mio psichiatra. Vogliono rimettermi in carreggiata, ma io invento le cose che gli dico. Non so cosa pensi di me, dice che sono una cipolla umana: lo tengo occupato a pelare gli strati.
Montag, a funny thing. Heard tell this morning. Fireman in Seattle, purposefully set a Mechanical Hound to his own chemical complex and let it loose. What kind of suicide would you call that?
And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn’t crying for him at all, but for all the things he did.
The library, then, at seven-fifteen, seven-thirty, seven-forty-five of a Sunday night, cloistered with great drifts of silence and transfixed avalanche of books poised like the cuneiform stones of eternity on shelves, so high the unseen snows of time fell all year there.
It was not burning, it was warming.
I mean, I think, every night, the sun dies. Going to sleep, I wonder, will it come back? Tomorrow morning, will it still be dead?
La dignidad de la verdad se pierde con demasiadas protestas.
Who are a little wise, the best fools be.
Beatty smiled his smile which showed the candy pink-ness of his gums and the tiny candy whiteness of his teeth. ‘I’ve seen it all. You were going to call for a night off.
There was no dictum, no declaration, no censorship, to start with, no! Technology, mass exploitation, and minority pressure carried the trick, thank God. Today, thanks to them, you can stay happy all the time, you are allowed to read comics, the good old confessions, or trade-journals.
Se soltanto si fosse potuto sviare quella mente dallo smacchiatore a secco e, svuotate le tasche, lavare a vapore, pulire, ricondizionato, e riportare quel cervello a domicilio in mattinata! Se almeno...
Lo sapeva che i libri profumano di noce moscata e spezie dei paesi lontani?
I remember. Montag clung to the earth. I remember. Chicago. Chicago, a long time ago. Millie and I. That’s where we met! I remember now. Chicago. A long time ago.
And his eyes were beginning to feel hunger, as if they must look at something, anything, everything.
Don’t let the torrent of melancholy and drear philosophy drown our world.