"Fahrenheit 451"

[fiefoe]

This is to be a companion read to that. Things in Ray Bradbury's world appear so fragile that his book should come with warning stickers like 'Caution, Exposed Nerves!'  

• Her face was slender and milk-white, and in it was a kind of gentle hunger that touched over everything with tireless curiosity. It was a look, almost, of pale surprise;
• two pale moonstones buried in a creek of clear water over which the life of the world ran, not touching them
• (He) lay down with the moonlight on his cheekbones and on the frowning ridges in his brow, with the moonlight distilled in each eye to form a silver cataract there.
  

This seems to be a typical Bradbury phrase: 'their case of liquid melancholy'. I used to be more allergic to his language, which never failed to produce violent unease in me.

• He felt that the stars had been pulverized by the sound of the black jets and that in the morning the earth would be covered with their dust like a strange snow. That was his idiot thought as he stood shivering in the dark.
• a kind of clenching and uncomfortable silence
• the little mosquito-delicate dancing hum in the air
• They had two machines, really. One of them slid down into your stomach like a black cobra down an echoing well looking for all the old water and the old time gathered there.
• (He) look at the Hound. It was like a great bee come home from some field where the honey is full of poison wildness, of insanity and nightmare, its body crammed with that overrich nectar, and now it was sleeping the evil out of itself.
• The voice clock mourned out the cold hour of a cold morning of a still colder year.