Fahrenheit 451 Quotes - Page 3 | Just Great DataBase

It's always someone else's husband dies, they say

They rounded a corner in thunder and siren, with concussion of tires, with scream of rubber with a shift of kerosene bulk in the glittery brass tank, like the food in the stomach of a giant, with Montag's fingers jolting off the silver rail, swinging into cold space, with the wind tearing his hair back from his head, with the wind whistling in his teeth, and him all the while thinking of the women, the chaff women in his parlor tonight, with the kernels blown out from under them by a neon wind, and his silly damned reading of a book to them.

You're a fool, a damn fool, an awful fool, an idiot, an awful idiot, a damn idiot, and a fool, a damn fool

right from the start of Fahrenheit 451 everybody on the unit has begun to read. There are often hundreds of books on the set; each member of the unit chooses one, and sometimes you can hear nothing but the sound of turning pages. Wednesday,

Colored people don’t like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White people don’t feel good about Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Burn it. Someone’s written a book on tobacco and cancer of the lungs? The cigarette people are weeping? Burn the book. Serenity, Montag. Peace, Montag. Take your fight outside. Better yet, into the incinerator. Funerals are unhappy and pagan? Eliminate them, too. Five minutes after a person is dead he’s on his way to the Big Flue, the Incinerators serviced by helicopters all over the country.

– Мне нужно поговорить, а слушать меня некому. Я не могу говорить со стенами, они кричат на меня. Я не могу говорить с женой, она слушает только стены. Я хочу, чтобы кто-нибудь выслушал меня. И если я буду говорить долго, то, может быть, и договорюсь до чего-нибудь разумного.

Книги – только одно из вместилищ, где мы храним то, что боимся забыть. В них нет никакой тайны, никакого волшебства. Волшебство лишь в том, что они говорят, в том, как они сшивают лоскутки вселенной в единое целое.

على كل إنسان أن يترك شيئا خلفه عندما يموت ، عليه أن يترك خلفه طفلا أو كتابا أو لوحة أو منزلا أو جدارا مبنيا أو زوج أحذية من صنعه أو حديقة مزروعة شيئا ما ، لامسته يدك بطريقة معينة . بحيث يكون لروحك مكان تذهب إليه عندما تموت . و عندما ينظر الناس إلى الشجرة أو الزهرة التي زرعتها تكون أنت موجودا هناك .لا يهم ما تفعل ما دمت تغير شيئا ما عما كان قبل أن تلمسه و تحوله إلى شيء يشبهك بعد أن ترفع يديك عنه .

Let you alone! That's all very well, but how can I leave myself alone ? We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?

What do you do, go around trying everything once?' He asked 'Sometimes twice

What is there about fire that's so lovely? Not matter what age we are, what draws us to it? It's perpetual motion; the thing man wanted to invent but never did. Or almost perpetual motion. If you let it go on, it'd burn our lifetimes out. What is fire? It's a mystery. Scientists give us gobbledegook about friction and molecules. But they don't really know. Its real beauty is that it destroys responsibility and consequences. A problem gets too burdensome, then into the furnace with it. Now, Montag, you're a burden. And fire will lift you off my shoulders, clean, quick, sure; nothing to rot later. Antibiotic, aesthetic, practical.

...You see?" Granger turned to Montag. "Grandfather's been dead for all these years, but if you lifted my skull, by God, in the convolutions of my brain you'd find the big ridges of his thumbprint.

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 planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there. It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away.