451 по фаренгейту
The Sieve and the Sand
"Idon’tknow.Wehaveeverythingweneedtobehappy,butwearen’thappy. Something’smissing.Ilookedaround. TheonlythingIpositivelyknewwasgonewasthebooksI’dburnedintenortwelveyears. SoIthoughtbooksmighthelp."
"You’reahopelessromantic,"saidFaber. "Itwouldbefunnyifitwerenotserious. It’snotbooksyouneed,it’ssomeofthethingsthatoncewereinbooks.Thesamethingscouldbeinthe‘parlourfamilies’today. Thesameinfinitedetailandawarenesscouldbeprojectedthroughtheradiosandtelevisors, butarenot. No,no,it’snotbooksatallyou’relookingfor! Takeitwhereyoucanfindit,inoldphonographrecords,oldmotionpictures,andinoldfriends; lookforitinnatureandlookforitinyourself. Bookswereonlyonetypeofreceptaclewherewestoredalotofthingswewereafraidwemightforget. Thereisnothingmagicalinthematall. Themagicisonlyinwhatbookssay,howtheystitchedthepatchesoftheuniversetogetherintoonegarmentforus. Ofcourseyoucouldn’tknowthis,ofcourseyoustillcan’tunderstandwhatImeanwhenIsayallthis. Youareintuitivelyright,that’swhatcounts. Threethingsaremissing.
"Numberone:Doyouknowwhybookssuchasthisaresoimportant? Becausetheyhavequality.Andwhatdoesthewordqualitymean? Tomeitmeanstexture.Thisbookhaspores. Ithasfeatures.Thisbookcangounderthemicroscope. You’dfindlifeundertheglass,streamingpastininfiniteprofusion. Themorepores,themoretruthfullyrecordeddetailsoflifepersquareinchyoucangetonasheetofpaper,themore‘literary’youare. That’smydefinition,anyway. Tellingdetail.Freshdetail.Thegoodwriterstouchlifeoften. Themediocreonesrunaquickhandoverher. Thebadonesrapeherandleaveherfortheflies.
