" So it was the hand that started it all. He felt one hand and then the other work his coat free and let it slump to the floor. He held his pants out into an abyss and let them fall into darkness. His hands had been infected, and soon it would be his arms. He could feel the poison working up his wrists and into his elbows and his shoulders , and then the jump-over from shoulder blade to shoulder blade like a spark leaping a gap. His hands were ravenous. and his eyes were beginning to feel hunger, as if they must look at something, anything, everything.
His wife said, "What are you doing?"
He balanced in space with the book in his sweating cold fingers. "

― Ray Bradbury , Fahrenheit 451