451 по фаренгейту
It was a pleasure to burn
Peoplewanttobehappy,isn’tthatright?Haven’tyouhearditallyourlife?Iwanttobehappy,peoplesay. Well,aren’tthey?Don’twekeepthemmoving,don’twegivethemfun? That’sallwelivefor,isn’tit?Forpleasure,fortitillation? Andyoumustadmitourcultureprovidesplentyofthese."
"Yes."
Montagcouldlip-readwhatMildredwassayinginthedoorway. Hetriednottolookathermouth,becausethenBeattymightturnandreadwhatwasthere,too.
"Colouredpeopledon’tlikeLittleBlackSambo.Burnit.Whitepeopledon’tfeelgoodaboutUncleTom’sCabin.Burnit. Someone’swrittenabookontobaccoandcancerofthelungs?Thecigarettepeopleareweeping?Burnthebook. Serenity,Montag.Peace,Montag.Takeyourfightoutside.Betteryet,intotheincinerator.Funeralsareunhappyandpagan?Eliminatethem,too. Fiveminutesafterapersonisdeadhe’sonhiswaytotheBigFlue,theIncineratorsservicedbyhelicoptersalloverthecountry.Tenminutesafterdeathaman’saspeckofblackdust. Let’snotquibbleoverindividualswithmemoriams.Forgetthem.Burnthemall,burneverything.Fireisbrightandfireisclean."
ThefireworksdiedintheparlourbehindMildred.Shehadstoppedtalkingatthesametime;amiraculouscoincidence.Montagheldhisbreath.
"Therewasagirlnextdoor,"hesaid,slowly."She’sgonenow,Ithink,dead.Ican’tevenrememberherface.Butshewasdifferent.How—howdidshehappen?"
Beattysmiled. "Hereorthere,that’sboundtooccur.ClarisseMcClellan?We’vearecordonherfamily.
