"It was a pleasure to burn It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed. With the brass nozzle in his fists, with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood pounded in his head, and his hands were the hands of some amazing conducter playing all the symphonies of blazing and burning to bring down the tatters and charcoal ruins of history. With his symbolic helmet numbered 451 on his stolid head, and his eyes all orange flame with he thought of what came next, he flicked the igniter and the house jumped up in a gorging fire that burned the evening sky red and yellow and black. 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. While the books went up in sparkling whirls and blew away on a wind turned dark with burning. Montag grinned the fierce grin of all men singed and driven back by flame."
What a creep. Who really is obsessed with fire that much? I wish that this man was less creepy and driven by something happy like a butterfly instead of flame. It evens says in the book that while he sleeps he smiles that creepy smile he gets from the fire burning and it never leaves his face. Maybe he took too much botox or something. All I know is he is creepy. I know it is hard to tell from the first two pages of a book what a person is going to be like. So I will have to keep reading.
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