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F451 Fig Lang
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We've got to start somewhere here, figuring out why we're in such a mess. We're heading right for the cliff, Millie. God, I don't want to go over.
Analogy
Luckily, queer ones like her don't happen often. We know how to nip most of them in the bud, early.
Idiom
A book is a loaded gun in the house next door. Burn it. Take the shot from the weapon.
Simile
Surely you remember the boy in your own school class who was exceptionally 'bright,' did most of the reciting and answering while the others sat like so many leaden idols, hating him.
Simile
Empty the theaters save for clowns and furnish the rooms with glass walls and pretty colors running up and down the walls like confetti or blood or sherry or sauterne.
Simile
Because I'm afraid, Montag thought. A child feigning illness, afraid to call because after a moment's discussion, the conversation would run badly.
Simile
He felt her there, he saw her without opening his eyes, her hair burnt by chemicals to a brittle straw.
Metaphor
The moonlight was like a breath exhaled upon the window. It was like a faint drift of greenish luminescent smoke.
Simile
A great thunderstorm of sound gushed from the walls.
Metaphor
The poison jumped the gap over from shoulder blade to shoulder blade like a spark leaping a gap.
Simile
The books lay like great mounds of fishes left to dry.
Simile
His hands had done it all, his hand, with a brain of its own, with a conscience and a curiosity in each trembling finger, had turned thief.
Personification
They fell like slaughtered birds, and the woman stood below, like a small girl, among the bodies.
Simile
A page hung open and it was a snowy feather, the words delicately painted thereon.
Simile
A fountain of books sprang down upon Montag as he climbed shuddering up the sheer stairwell.
Metaphor
Montag slid down the pole like a man in a dream.
Simile
Captain Beatty there, rising in thunderheads of tobacco smoke.
Metaphor
Beatty was looking at him as if he were a museum statue.
Simile
It's like a lot of funnels and a lot of water poured down the spout and out the bottom.
Simile
It's like a lesson in ballistics. It has a trajectory we decide on for it.
Simile
It was like a great bee come home from some field where the honey is full of poison wildness, of insanity and nightmare, its body crammed with that over-rich nectar.
Simile
He tells his body divide itself into a hotness and a coldness, a softness and a hardness.
Hyperbole
He says I'm a regular onion! I keep him busy peeling away the layers.
Metaphor
I had both ears plugged with electronic bees that were humming the hour away.
Metaphor
She didn't do that. Never in a billion years.
Hyperbole
But instead he stood there, very cold, his face a mask of ice, listening to a man's voice moving along at an easy pace.
Metaphor
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
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
Montag was cut in half. He felt his chest chopped down and split apart.
Hyperbole
There was a tremendous ripping sound as if two giant hands had torn ten thousand miles of black lines down the seam.
Simile
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
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
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
The little mosquito-delicate dancing hum in the air, the electrical murmur of a hidden wasp snug in its special pink warm nest.
Analogy
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
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
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
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
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
Her dress was white and it whispered.
Personification
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
with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood pounded in his head
Metaphor
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