" Montag only said, 'We never burned right...' 'Hand it over Montag' said Beatty with a fixed smile. And then he was a shrieking blaze, a jumping, sprawling, gibbering, mannikan, no longer human or known, all writhing flame on the lawn as Montag shot one continuous pulse of liquid fire on him."
" The room was blazing hot, he was all fire, he was all coldness; they sat in the middle of an empty desert with three chairs and him standing, swaying, and him waiting for Mrs. Phelps to stop straightening her dress hem, and Mrs. Bowless to take her fingers away from her hair. "
" He picked up a small green metal object, no bigger than a .22 bullet"
and he said, "it listens Montag! If you put it in your ear, I can sit comfortably at home, warming my frightened bones, and hear and analyze the firemans world, find it;s weaknesses, without danger. "
" His name was Faber, and when he finally lost his fear of Montag, he talked in a cadenced voice, looking at the sky and the trees, and the green park, and when an hour passes he said something to Montag and Montag sensed it was a ryhmless poem."
" One last thing," said Beatty. "Atleast once in his career, every fireman gets an itch. What do the books say? he wonders. Oh, to scratch that itch, eh? Well Montag, take my word for it, I've had to read a few in my time, to know what I was about, and the books say NOTHING!"
" He strode in a swarm of fireflies. He wanted above all, like the old joke, to shove a marshmallow on a stick in the furnace, while the flapping pigeon winged books died on the porch and lawn of the house. "