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? People were more often - he searched for a simile, found one in his work - torches, blazing away until they whifffed out. How rarely did other people’s faces take of you and throw back to you your own expression, your own innermost trembling thought.
- Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451
2 comments:
I read this ten times and hit myself with a shillelagh and still I don't get it. :)
Only my macushla can understand this.
if your macushla is your mirror, then she wouldn't get it, too, huh? :)
Post a Comment