Apr. 9th, 2005 (UTC)

  • 12:51 AM (UTC)
*...Sure, I believe you.*

*Locks away all birthday albums, hoping no one will ever, ever see them. Especially red satin princess dress with gloves one.*

...Bitch.

I'll scar myself for life if I ever utter a narrative sentence involving the words "Fievel" and "Caesar."


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You like bowling, don't you, Montag?

If you don't want a man unhappy politically, don't give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none. If the government is inefficient, topheavy, and tax-mad, better it be all those than that people worry over it. Peace, Montag. Give the people contests they win by remembering the words to more popular songs or the names of state capitals or how much corn Iowa grew last year. Cram them full of noncombustible data, chock them so damned full of 'facts' they feel stuffed, but absolutely 'brilliant' with information. Then they'll feel like they're thinking, they'll get a sense of motion without moving. And they'll be happy, because facts of that sort don't change. Don't give them any slippery stuff like philosophy or sociology to tie things up with. That way lies melancholy.

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