Old Montag, By now you are far, far away from the madness that was once a life. You're on an intoxicating journey with novels, millions of them, those containing the well kept clandestine literature of famous poets and scholars. Follow the trails and they will lead you to where it is you are needing to go. You will soon realize what you are looking for. You see Montag it was never books you wee searching for, it's some of the things that once were in books.Books were only one type of receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There was nothing magical in them at all, the magic was only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us. Of course you do not know this, of course you have yet to understand what I mean when I say all this. Sense I will be far gone when you receive this letter(if you ever do) I should tell you our purpose of life. I am no God or higher being but our purpose was so insignificant and simple, so minuscule compared to these books. They were so hated and feared because they showed the pores in the face of life. We lived in a time when flowers were trying to live on flowers, instead of growing on good rain and black loam. Yet we thought we could grow,feeding on flowers without completing the cycle back to reality. Montag find what you are looking for. The war is not over yet. Watch for hounds and conserve what is left.