The misanthrope, 1568
"Since the world is so unfaithful, I am in mourning."
Listen to me, Montag. Once to each fireman, at least once in his career, He just itches to know what these books are all about. He just aches to know. Isn't that so? Take my word for it, Montag, there's nothing there. The books have nothing to say! Look, these are all novels. All about people that never existed. The people that read them, it makes them unhappy with their own lives, Makes them want to live in other ways that can never really be.
What's happening? This house is condemned. They said to burn the books here with everything else. Burning the house is one thing. Burning the books is another, isn't it? It's never any good burning everything together. Come on, Montag. All this philosophy, let's get rid of it. It's even worse than the novels. Thinkers, philosophers, all of them saying exactly the same thing: "Only I am right. The others are all idiots." One century, they tell you man's destiny is predetermined. The next, they say that he has freedom of choice. It's just a matter of fashion, that's all. Philosophy. Just like short dresses this year, long dresses next year. Look. All stories of the dead. Biography that's called. And autobiography. My life. My diary. My memoirs. My intimate memoirs. Of course, when they started out, it was just the urge to write. Then after the second or third book, all they wanted was to satisfy their own vanity, To stand out from the crowd, to be different, To be able to look down on all the others.