Ideas and philosophies change just as machines do. Religions changed because of the birth control pill. Politics changes because of the hydrogen bomb. All because of science fictional inventions.

And besides, I like to cry. After I cry hard it's like it's morning again and I'm starting the day over.

The Universe has shouted itself alive. We are one of the shouts.

Stuff your eyes with wonder, live as if you'd drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It's more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories.

We have everything we need to be happy, but we aren't happy,Something's missing!

All the women in my life have been librarians, English teachers and book sellers.

Love is easy, and I love writing.

All of the good, weird stories I've written are based on things I've dredged out of my subconscious. That's the real stuff. Everything else is fake.

All education is self-discovery.

They whispered to Caesar that he was mortal, then sold daggers at half-price in the grand March sale.

At the top of your lungs, shout and listen to the echoes. You must live life at the top of your voice!

That's sad, said Montag, quietly, because all we put into it is hunting and finding and killing. What a shame if that's all it can ever know.

Far away in the cool dim empty rooms of the big old house, a silver bell tinkled and faded.

You've got to jump off cliffs and build your wings on the way down.

I don't try to describe the future. I try to prevent it.

Have you ever watched the jet cars race on the boulevard?...I sometimes think drivers don’t know what grass is, or flowers, because they never see them slowly...If you showed a driver a green blur, Oh yes! He'd say, that’s grass! A pink blur! That’s a rose garden! White blurs are houses. Brown blurs are cows.

I prefer to see myself as the Janus, the two-faced god who is half Pollyanna and half Cassandra, warning of the future and perhaps living too much in the past -- a combination of both.

Sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads.

In the dim, wavering light, a page hung open and it was like a snowy feather, the words delicately painted thereon. In all the rush and fervor, Montag had only an instant to read a line, but it blazed in his mind for the next minute as if stamped there with fiery steel.

Sandwich outdoors isn’t a sandwich anymore. Tastes different than indoors, notice? Got more spice. Tastes like mint and pinesap. Does wonders for the appetite.