Best 48 quotes in «fahrenheit 451 quotes» category

Cuando en la oscuridad olvidamos lo cerca que estamos del vacío, algún día se presentará y se apoderará de nosotros, porque habremos olvidado lo terrible y real que puede ser.

Fiction gives us empathy: It puts us inside the minds of other people, gives us the gift of seeing through their eyes. Fiction is a lie that tells us true things, over and over.

Do you notice how people hurt each other nowadays?" "You sound so very old" "Sometimes I'm ancient. I'm afraid of children my own age. They kill each other. Did it always used to be that way?

He felt as if he had left a stage behind and many actors. He felt as if he had left the great seance and all the murmuring ghosts. He was moving from an unreality that was frightening into a reality that was unreal because it was new.

I don't know. We have everything we need to be happy, but we aren't happy. Something's missing. I looked around. The only thing I positively KNEW was gone was the books I'd burned in ten or twelve years. So I thought books might help.

Don't haggle and nag them; you were so recently of them yourself. They are so confident that they will run on forever. But they won't run on. They don't know that this is all one huge big blazing meteor that makes a pretty fire in space, but that some day it'll have to hit. They see only the blaze, the pretty fire, as you saw it.

For, let's face it, digression is the soul of wit. Take philosophic asides away from Dante, Milton or Hamlet's father's ghost and what stays is dry bones.

Happiness is important. Fun is everything.

He was a victim of concussion. When it was all over he felt like a man who had been thrown from a cliff, whirled in a centrifuge, and spat out over a waterfall that fell and fell into emptiness and emptiness and never-- quite--touched--bottom--never--never--quite--no not quite--touched bottom... and you fell so fast you didn't touch the sides either... never... quite... touched... anything

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

I know, i know. You're afraid of making mistakes. Don't be. Mistakes can be profited by. Man, when I was younger I shoved my ignorance in people's faces. They beat me with sticks. By the times I was fort my blunt instrument has been honed to a fine cutting point for me. If you hid your ignorance, no one will hit you and you'll never learn.

I'll be like in that movie, that one where all the people walk around recitin' the books they memorized after all the books were burned. Form a retreat, a cult of over-specialized cold warriors like me. Recite the blue pubs, the yellow pubs, the red pubs, the black pubs. Muttering men keeping the data alive.

Knjige su samo jedna vrsta spremišta za mnogo toga za šta smo strahovali da bismo mogli da zaboravimo. Nema u njima uopšte ničeg magičnog. Magija je samo u onome što knjige kazuju, u tome kako zašivaju komade kosmosa u odeću za nas.

Le cose che voi cercate, Montag, sono su questa terra, ma il solo modo per cui l’uomo medio potrà vederne il novantanove per cento sarà un libro.

Montag wanted to fly near the sun and now that he's burnt his damn wings, he wonders why

I want to see everything now. And while none of it will be me when it goes in, after a while it'll all gather together inside and it'll be me. Look at the world out there, my God, my God, look at it out there, outside me, out there beyond my face and the only way to really touch it is to put it where it's finally me, where it's in the blood, where it pumps around a thousand times ten thousand a day. I'll get hold of it so it'll never run off. I'll hold onto the world so tight some day. I've got a finger on it now; that's a beginning.

Mogu nabaviti knjige. -Izlažete se pogibelji. -To je dobra strana umiranja: kad nemate što izgubiti, izlažete se svakoj pogibelji kojoj želite." str. 86.

My feet," said Montag. "I can't move them. I feel so damn silly. My feet won't move!" "Listen. Easy now," said the old man gently. "I know, I know. You're afraid of making mistakes. Don't be. Mistakes can be profited by. Man, when I was young I shoved my ignorance in people's faces. They beat me with sticks. By the time I was forty my blunt instrument had been honed to a fine cutting point for me. If you hide your ignorance, no one will hit you and you'll never learn.

Obojeni ne vole Malog crnog Samba. Spali ga. Bijeli nisu oduševljeni Čiča Tominom kolibom. Spali je. Netko je napisao knjigu o duhanu i raku pluća? Proizvođači cigareta tule? Spali knjigu. Vedrina, Montag. Mir, Montag. Iznesi svoju borbu van. Još bolje, u spalionicu. " str. 65.

Ne govorim o stvarima, gospodine. Govorim o značenju stvari.” ― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Ne baskı, ne uyarı, ne sansür başlangıçta hiçbiri yoktu. Bu oyunu teknoloji, kitlelerin sömürüsü, azınlıkların baskısı devam ettirdi.

So now do you see why books are hated and feared? They show the pores in the face of life. The comfortable people want only wax moon faces, poreless, hairless, expressionless.

Pasamos la vida entera aprendiendo a olvidar cosas que en realidad están dentro

So bring on your clubs and parties, your acrobats and magicians, your daredevils, jet cars, motorcycle helicopters, your sex and heroin, more of everything to do with automatic reflex. If the drama is bad, if the film says nothing, if the play is hollow, sting me with the theremin, loudly. I'll think I'm responding to the play, when it's only a tactile reaction to vibration. But I don't care. I just like solid entertainment.

The things you're looking for, Montag, are in the world, but the only way the average chap will ever see ninety-nine percent of them is in a book. Don't ask for guarantees. And don't look to be saved in any one thing, person, machine, or library. Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least die knowing you were headed for shore.

The Wardens put on their own epic production of Fahrenheit 452," Bob said. "They spent about twenty years finding and destroying copies.

The important thing for you to remember, Montag, is we're the Happiness Boys, the Dixie Duo, you and I and the others. We stand against the small tide of those who want to make everyone unhappy with conflicting theory and thought. We have our fingers in the dike. Hold steady. Don't let the torrent of melancholy and drear philosophy drown our world. We depend on you. I don't think you realize how important you are, we are, to our happy world as it stands now.

The Wardens put on their own epic production of Fahrenheit 451," Bob said. "They spent about twenty years finding and destroying copies.

The woman knelt among the books, touching the drenched leather and cardboard, reading the gilt titles with her fingers while her eyes accused Montage. “You can’t ever have my books,” she said.

Thousands on the roads, the abandoned railtracks, tonight, bums on the outside, libraries inside. It wasn't planned, at first. Each man had a book he wanted to remember, and did. Then, over a period of twenty years or so, we met each other, traveling, and got the loose network together and set out a plan. [...] We' re nothing more than dust jackets for books, of no significance otherwise. Some of us live in small towns. Chapter One of Thoreau's Walden in Green River, Chapter Two in Willow Farm, Maine. Why, there's one town in Maryland, only twenty-seven people, no bomb'll ever touch that town, is the complete essays of a man named Bertrand Russell. Pick up that town, almost, and flip the pages, so many pages to a person. And when the war's over, some day, some year, the books can be written again, the people will be called in, one by one, to recite what they know and we'll set it up in type until another Dark Age, when we might have to do the whole damn thing over again. But that's the wonderful thing about man; he never gets so discouraged or disgusted that he gives up doing it all over again, because he knows very well it is important and worth the doing.

Time has fallen asleep in the afternoon sunshine.

Todos deben dejar algo al morir, decía mi abuelo. Un niño o un libro o un cuadro o una casa o una pared o un par de zapatos. O un jardín. Algo que las manos de uno hallan tocado de algún modo. El alma tendrá entonces un lugar a donde ir el día de la muerte, y cuando la gente mire ese árbol, o esa flor, allí estará uno. No importa lo que se haga, decía, mientras uno cambie las cosas. Así, después de tocarlas, quedará en ellas algo de uno.

We all do what we do.

When did it all start, you ask, this job of ours (to burn books). There was no dictum, no declaration, no censorship. Technology, mass exploitation, and minority pressure carried the trick, thank God. Ask yourself what do people want in this country above all? People want to be happy isn't that right? That's all we live for, isn't it? For pleasure, for titillation?

When did it start, you ask, this job of ours (to burn book). There was no dictum, no declaration, no censorship, to start with, no! Colored people don't like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White people don't feel good about Uncle Tom's Cabin. Burn it. Burn the book. Serenity, Montag. Peace, Montag. Take your fight outside. Better yet, into the incinerator.

When did it all start, you ask, this job of ours (to burn book). There was no dictum, no declaration, no censorship. Technology, mass exploitation, and minority pressure carried the trick, thank God. Ask yourself what do people want in this country above all? People want to be happy isn't that right? That's all we live for, isn't it? For pleasure, for titillation?

Where's your common sense? None of those books agree with each other. You've been locked up here for years with a regular damned Tower of Babel. Snap out of it! The people in those books never lived. Come on now!

When they give you lined paper, write the other way.

You must remember, burn them or they'll burn you...

You can't ever have my books.

You're afraid of making mistakes. Don't be. Mistakes can be profited by.

And wasn't it this bright boy you selected for beating and tortures after hours? Of course it was. 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 their 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? Me? I won't stomach them for a minute. And so when houses were finally fireproofed completely, all over the world (you were correct in your assumption the other night) there was no longer need of firemen for the old purposes. They were given the new job, as custodians of our peace of mind, the focus of our understandable and rightful dread of being inferior: official censors, judges and executors. That's you, Montag, and that's me.

Après tout, on vit à l'époque des Kleenex. On fait avec les gens comme avec les mouchoirs, on froisse après usage, on jette, on en prend un autre, on se mouche, on froisse, on jette. Tout le monde se sert des basques du voisin.

Bir evi ahşapsız ve çivisiz inşa edemezsin. Eğer bir evin yapılmasını istemiyorsan ahşap ve çivileri sakla. Eğer politik bakımdan mutsuz bir adam istemiyorsan, kaygılandıracak bir soruda ona iki bakış açısı verme, birini ver. Daha da iyisi hiç verme. Bırak savaş gibi bir şeyin var olduğunu unutsun. Eğer Devlet yetersizse, havaleliyse ve vergi delisiyse, insanların Devlet üzerine endişelenmesindense bırak böyle olsun. Huzur, Montag. Onlara yarışmalar düzenle, en popüler şarkıların sözlerini, devletlerin başkentlerini veya Iowa'da geçen yıl ne kadar mısır yetiştirildiğini bilerek kazansınlar. Onları patlamalarına neden olmayacak bilgilerle doldur, öyle lanet olası olaylarla tıka basa yap ki, kendilerini bilgileriyle gerçekten zeki hissetsinler. Sonra düşündüklerini hissedecekler, hiç kımıldamadan hareket ettikleri hissine kapılacaklar ve mutlu olacaklar, çünkü bu tür olaylar değişmezler. Olayların bağlantılarını kurmaları için onlara felsefe ve sosyoloji gibi kaypak şeyler verme. O zaman melankolik olurlar. Bugünlerde birçok adamın yapabildiği gibi, TV duvarını ayırıp tekrar birleştiren kişi, insanı kaba, hayvansı hissettirmeden ölçülüp biçilemeyecek olan evreni ölçüp biçmeye çalışan kişiden daha mutludur. Biliyorum, ben denedim, cehenneme kadar yolu var. Sen kulüplerini ve partilerini, akrobatlarını ve sihirbazlarını, gözüpek adamlarını, jet arabalarını, motosiklet helikopterlerini, seks ve eroini, otomatik refleksle yapılacak her şeyi getir onlara.

Books bombarded his shoulders, his arms, his upturned face. A book lit, almost obediently, like a white pigeon, in his hands, wings fluttering.

Books were only one type of receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There is nothing magical in them at all. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the Universe together into one garment for us.

All is not lost, of course. There is still time if we judge teachers, students, and parents, hold them accountable on the same scale, if we truly test teachers, students, and parents, if we make everyone responsible for quality, if we insure that by the end of its sixth year every child in every country can live in libraries to learn almost by osmosis, then our drug, street-gang, rape, and murder scores will suffer themselves near zero. But the Fire Chief, in mid-novel, says it all, predicting the one-minute TV commercial with three images per second and no respite from the bombardment. Listen to him, know what he says, then go sit with your child, open a book, and turn the page.

Books are completely disappearing. Remember in Fahrenheit 451 where the fireman's wife was addicted to interactive television and they sent fireman crews out to burn books? That mission has been largely accomplished in middle-class America and they didn't need the firemen. The interactive electronics took care of it without the violence,