451 Fahrenheit

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Social to me means talking about things like this. Or talking about how strange the world is. Being with people is nice. But I don't think it is social to get a bunch of people together and then not let me talk, do you?
An hour of TV class, another hour of transcription history, but do you know, we never ask questions. They just run the answers at you, bing, bing bing. That's not social to me at all.


We must all be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the Constitution says, but everyone made equal. Each man the image of every other; then all are happy, for there are no mountains to make them cower, to judge themselves against. So! A book is a loaded gun in the house next door. Burn it. Take the shot from the weapon. Breach man's mind. Who knows who might be the target of the well-read man.
...

People want to be happy, isn't that right? Haven't you heard it all your life? I want to be happy, people say. Well, aren't they? Don't we keep them moving, don't we give them fun? That's all we live for, isn't it? For pleasure, for titillation? Аnd you must admit our culture provides plenty of these. Coloured people don't like "Little black sambo". Burn it. White people don't feel good about "Uncle Tom's cabin". Burn it.


I don't talk things, sir. I talk the meaning of things. I sit here and know I'm alive.

The sun burned every day. It burned Time. The world rushed in a circle and turned on it's axis and time was busy burning the years and the people anyway, without any help from him.

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