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F451 Fig Lang

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    F451 Fig Lang
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  • with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood pounded in his head
    Metaphor
  •  15
  • Before he reached the corner, however, he slowed as if a wind had sprung up from nowhere, as if someone had called his name.
    Simile
  •  15
  • Her dress was white and it whispered.
    Personification
  •  15
  • He stood looking up at the ventilator grille in the hall and suddenly remembered that something lay hidden behind the grille, something that seemed to peer down at him now.
    Personification
  •  15
  • She had a very thin face like the dial of a small clock seen faintly in a dark room in the middle of a night.
    Simile
  •  15
  • He glanced back at the wall. How like a mirror, too, her face. Impossible; for how many people did you know who refracted your own light to you?
    Simile
  •  15
  • What incredible power of identification the girl had; she was like the eager watcher of a marionette show, anticipating each flicker of an eyelid, each gesture of his hand, each flick of a finger, the moment before it began.
    Simile
  •  15
  • Complete darkness, not a hint of the silver world outside, the windows tightly shut, the chamber a tomb world where no sound from the great city could penetrate.
    Metaphor
  •  15
  • The little mosquito-delicate dancing hum in the air, the electrical murmur of a hidden wasp snug in its special pink warm nest.
    Analogy
  •  15
  • He felt his smile slide away, melt, fold over and down on itself like a tallow skin, like the stuff of a fantastic candle burning too long and now collapsing and now blown out.
    Simile
  •  15
  • He wore his happiness like a mask and the girl had run off across the lawn with the mask and there was no way of going to knock on her door and ask for it back.
    Simile
  •  15
  • Her face was like a snow-covered island upon which rain might fall, but it felt no rain; over which clouds might pass their moving shadows, but she felt no shadow.
    Simile
  •  15
  • There was a tremendous ripping sound as if two giant hands had torn ten thousand miles of black lines down the seam.
    Simile
  •  15
  • Montag was cut in half. He felt his chest chopped down and split apart.
    Hyperbole
  •  15
  • He felt that the stars had been pulverized by the sound of the black jets and that in the morning the earth would be covered with their dust like a strange snow.
    Simile
  •  15
  • One of the machines slid down into your stomach like a black cobra down an echoing well looking for all the old water and the old time gathered there.
    Simile
  •  15