|Имя cобытия:||capturing fireflies in ivory jars|
|Событие Время/Дата:||янв. 9, 2013, 11:00 PM до янв. 8, 2014, 11:00 PM|
|Описание:||capturing fireflies in ivory jars|
Now that my sister is breaking her friendship off with those one person who, i think, is undeserving of any friendship whatsoever, she's been a lot nicer towards me. That makes me happy. And i haven't been happy a lot recently. Yay.
I'm going to talk about lucid dreaming later, because i've experienced it, but i need to wait until i can think straight and have more time to get it all out.
In the mean time, read some quotes from Fahrenheit 451 (Note: ---> means indent.)
Pg. 166: 揌e floated on his back when the valise filled and sank; the river was mild and leisurely <a href="http://www.promotionburberry.com/">Burberry Outlet</a>, going way from the people who ate shadows for breakfast and steam for lunch and vapor for supper. The river was real; it held him comfortably and gave him the time at last, the leisure, to consider this month, this, year, and a lifetime of years. He listened to his heart slow. His thoughts stopped rushing with his blood.
--->He saw the moon low in the sky now. The moon there, and the light of the moon caused by what? But the sun, of course. And what lights the sun? Its own fire. And the sun goes on, day after day, burning and burning. The sun and time. The sun and time and burning. Burning. The river bobbled him along gently. Burning. The sun and every clock on earth. It all came together and became a single thing in his mind. After a long time of floating on the land and a short time of floating in the river he knew why he must never burn again in his life.
--->The sun burned everyday. It burned Time. The world rushed in a circle and turned on its axis and time was busy burning the years and the people anyway, without any help from him. So if he burned things with the firemen and he the sun burned Time, that meant that everything burned!
--->One of them had to stop burning. The sun wouldn抰, certainly. So it looked as if it had to be Montag and the people he had worked with until a few short hours ago. Somewhere the saving and putting away had to begin again and someone had to do the saving and keeping, one way or another, in books, in records, in people抯 heads, any way at all so long at it was sage, free from moths, silverfish, rust and dry rot, and men with matches. The world was full of burning of all types and sizes. Now the guild of the asbestos-weaver must open shop very soon.
Pg. 141: 揥hat is there about fire that抯 so lovely? No matter what age we are, what draws us to it??Beatty blew out the flame and lit it again. 揑t抯 perpetual motion; the thing man wanted to invent but never did. Or almost perpetual motion. If you let it go on, it抎 burn our lifetimes out. What is fire? It抯 a mystery <a href="http://www.watchestype.net/">replica watches</a>. Scientists give us gobbledegook about friction and molecules. But they don抰 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抮e a burden. And fire will lift you off my shoulders, clean, quick, sure; nothing to rot later. Antibiotic, aesthetic, practical.敆Beatty
Pg. 140: 揟here was a crash like the falling parts of a dream fashioned out of warped glass, mirrors, and crystal prisms.?/P>
Pg. 140: 揥hat a dreadful surprise,?said Beatty. 揊or everyone nowadays knows, absolutely is certain, that nothing will ever happen to me. Others die, I go on. There are no consequences and no responsibilities. Except that there are. But let抯 not talk about them, eh? By the time the consequences catch up with you, it抯 too late, isn抰 it, Montag??/P>
Pg. 132: 揧ou抮e afraid of making mistakes. Don抰 be. Mistakes can be profited by. Man, when I was younger, I shoved my ignorance in people抯 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 <a href="http://www.easewatches.com/">replica watches</a>. If you hide your ignorance, no one will hit you and you抣l never learn.敆Faber
Pg. 114: 揧ou can抰 guarantee things like that! After all, when we had all the books we needed, we still insisted on finding the highest cliff to jump off. But we do need the breather. We do need the knowledge. And perhaps in a thousand years we might pick smaller cliffs to jump off. The books are to remind us what asses and fools we are. They抮e Caesar抯 praetorian guard, whispering as the parade roars down the avenue, 慠emember Caesar, thou art mortal.?Most of us can抰 rush around, talk to everyone, know all the cities of the world, we haven抰 the time, money or that many friends. The things you抮e 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抰 ask guarantees. And don抰 look to be saved by any one thing, person, machine, or library. Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least you die knowing you were headed toward shore.?/P>桭aber
Pg. 110: 揧ou抮e a hopeless romantic,?said Faber. 揑t would be funny if it were not serious. It抯 not books you need, it抯 some of the things that were once in books. The same things could be in the 憄arlor families?today. The same infinite detail and awareness could be projected through the radios and televisors, but are not. No, no, it抯 not books at all you抮e looking for! Take it where you can find it, in old phonograph records, old motion pictures, and in old friends; look for it in nature and look for it in yourself <a href="http://www.realmwatches.com/">replica watches</a>. 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 what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us. Of course you couldn抰 know this, of course you still can抰 understand what I mean when I say all this. You are intuitively right, that抯 what counts. Three things are missing.
--->揘umber one: Do you know why books such as this are so important? Because they have quality. And what does the word quality mean? To me it means texture. This book has pores. It has features. This book can go under a microscope. You抎 find life under the glass, streaming past in infinite profusion. The more pores, the more truthfully recorded details of life per square inch you can get on a sheet of paper, the more 憀iterary?you are. That抯 my definition, anyway. Telling detail. Fresh detail. The mediocre ones run a quick hand over her. The bad ones rape her and leave her for the flies.
--->揝o now do you see why books are hated and feared? They show the pores in face of life. The comfortable people want only wax moon faces, poreless, hairless, expressionless. We are living in a time when flowers are trying to live on flowers, instead of growing on good rain and black loam. Even fireworks, for all their prettiness, come from the chemistry of the earth. Yet somehow we think we can grow, feeding on flowers and fireworks, without completing the cycle back to reality. Do you know the legend of Hercules and Antaeus <a href="http://www.herebeatsbydre.com/">beats by dre</a>, the giant wrestler, whose strength was incredible so long as he stood firmly on the earth? But when he was held, rootless, in midair, by Hercules, he perished easily. If there isn抰 anything in that legend for us today, in this city, in our time, then I am completely insane. Well, there we have the first thing I said we needed. Quality, texture of information.?br>--->揂nd the second??br>--->揕eisure.?br>--->揙h, but we抳e plenty of off hours.?br>--->揙ff hours, yes. But time to think? If you抮e not driving a hundred miles an hour, at a clip where you can抰 think of anything else but danger, then you抮e playing some game or sitting in some room where you can抰 argue with the four-wall televisor. Why? The televisor is 憆eal.?It is immediate, it has dimensions. It tells you what to think and blasts it in. It must be right. It seems so right. It rushes you on so quickly to its own conclusion your mind hasn抰 time to protest, 慦hat nonsense!挀
--->揙nly the 慺amily?is 憄eople??br>--->揑 beg pardon??br>--->揗y wife says books aren抰 憆eal.挃
--->揟hank God for that. You can shut them, say, 慔old on a moment.?You play God to it. But who has ever torn himself from the claw that encloses you when you drop a seed in a TV parlor? It grows you any shape it wishes! It is an environment as real as the world. It becomes and is the truth. Books can be beaten down with reason. But with all my knowledge and skepticism, I have never been able to argue with a one-hundred-piece symphony orchestra, full color, three dimensions, and being in part of those incredible parlors. As you see, my parlor is nothing but four plaster walls.攨
--->搮Where do we go from here? Would books help us??br>--->揙nly if the third necessary thing could be given to us. Number one, as I said, quality of information. Number two: leisure to digest. And number three: the right to carry out actions based on what we learn from the interaction of the first two. And I hardly think a very old man and a fireman turned sour could do much this late in the game?敆Faber and Montag