There were only the great diamonds and sapphires and emerald mists and velvet inks of space, with God's voice mingling among the crystal fires.

The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us.

We are an impossibility in an impossible universe.

I often wonder if God recognizes His own son the way we've dressed him up, or is it dressed him down?

The odors of perfume were fanned out on the summer air by the whirling vents of the grottoes where the women hid like undersea creatures, under electric cones, their hair curled into wild whorls and peaks, their eyes shrewd and glassy, animal and sly, their mouths painted a neon red.

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.