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F451 Fig Lang

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  • There was a tremendous ripping sound as if two giant hands had torn ten thousand miles of black lines down the seam.
    Simile
  • 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
  • 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
  • Her dress was white and it whispered.
    Personification
  • It's like a lesson in ballistics. It has a trajectory we decide on for it.
    Simile
  • It's like a lot of funnels and a lot of water poured down the spout and out the bottom.
    Simile
  • A page hung open and it was a snowy feather, the words delicately painted thereon.
    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
  • They fell like slaughtered birds, and the woman stood below, like a small girl, among the bodies.
    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
  • 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
  • A book is a loaded gun in the house next door. Burn it. Take the shot from the weapon.
    Simile
  • Captain Beatty there, rising in thunderheads of tobacco smoke.
    Metaphor
  • 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
  • Montag was cut in half. He felt his chest chopped down and split apart.
    Hyperbole
  • Montag slid down the pole like a man in a dream.
    Simile
  • Beatty was looking at him as if he were a museum statue.
    Simile
  • The poison jumped the gap over from shoulder blade to shoulder blade like a spark leaping a gap.
    Simile
  • I had both ears plugged with electronic bees that were humming the hour away.
    Metaphor
  • 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
  • He says I'm a regular onion! I keep him busy peeling away the layers.
    Metaphor
  • 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
  • A great thunderstorm of sound gushed from the walls.
    Metaphor
  • 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
  • The books lay like great mounds of fishes left to dry.
    Simile
  • She didn't do that. Never in a billion years.
    Hyperbole
  • He felt her there, he saw her without opening his eyes, her hair burnt by chemicals to a brittle straw.
    Metaphor
  • 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
  • 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
  • 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
  • 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
  • Luckily, queer ones like her don't happen often. We know how to nip most of them in the bud, early.
    Idiom
  • 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
  • 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
  • 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
  • A fountain of books sprang down upon Montag as he climbed shuddering up the sheer stairwell.
    Metaphor
  • He tells his body divide itself into a hotness and a coldness, a softness and a hardness.
    Hyperbole
  • 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
  • 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
  • The little mosquito-delicate dancing hum in the air, the electrical murmur of a hidden wasp snug in its special pink warm nest.
    Analogy
  • The moonlight was like a breath exhaled upon the window. It was like a faint drift of greenish luminescent smoke.
    Simile
  • with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood pounded in his head
    Metaphor