Highways full of crowds going somewhere, somewhere, somewhere, nowhere. The gasoline refugee. Towns turn into motels, people in nomadic surges from place to place, following the moon tides, living tonight in the room where you slept this noon and I the night before。
……
All the minor minor minorities with their navels to be kept clean. Authors, full of evil thoughts, lock up your typewriters.
#摘
#Fahrenheit451