Book: 451 degrees Fahrenheit. Page 3

If I say long, it may be, and will agree to anything reasonable.

It seemed to him that he was split in two, split in half and one half was as hot as fire and the other cold as ice, one was sweet, the other cruel, one timid, the other hard as a rock. And each half split in two "I" tried to destroy the other.

It's only been a hour since he met Clarisse McLellan... only One hour, but how things have changed - he melted down, old world and instead have created a new, cold and colorless.

It's thin face resembled dial hours small, weakly glowing in a dark room, when I awoke in the night, I want to know the time and see that the arrows just show the hour, minute and second, and this bright and silent face calmly and confidently tells you that the night passes, though, and becomes darker and soon the sun will rise.

Of course, I'm happy. How could it be otherwise?

Better to keep it in my head where no one will see nothing suspect.

How many times a person can die and yet remain alive?

Darkness. Darkness. He was not happy. He said it himself. He admitted to it. He wore his happiness like a mask, but the girl took it and ran off across the lawn, and now we can't knock on her door and ask that she return him a mask.

You can't trust people, that's the horror.

Again should begin the process of conservation values, someone has to collect and save that created by man, preserve it in books, gramophone records, in the minds of people to protect at any cost from moths, mildew, rust, decay, and men with matches.

Here is a curious instance of, in other tongues is called a fool.

And all the fuss and rushing around trying to put out the stars and extinguish the sun.

I also thought about the books. And for the first time realized that each of them is a man. The man thought, nurtured in the thoughts. Spend a chasm of time to record them on paper. I earlier never came.

The universe can neither be measured nor calculated, not felt at the same time, as you yourself are miserable and lonely.