And the present sheared asunder from the past, like an iceberg sheared off from its frozen parent cliffs, and went sailing out to sea in lonely pride. All the past ages had accomplished was as nothing.
The more stitches, the less riches.
A man can smile and smile and be a villain.
Slowly, very slowly, like two unhurried compass needles, the feet turned towards the right; north, north-east, east, south-east, south, south-south-west; then paused, and after a few seconds, turned as unhurriedly back towards the left. South-south-west, south, south-east, east...
Universal happiness keeps the wheels steadily turning, truth and beauty can't.
I like being myself. Myself and nasty.
As if one believed anything by instinct! One believes things because one has been conditioned to believe them. Finding bad reasons for what one believes for other bad reasons-that's philosophy. People believe in God because they've been conditioned to believe in God.
Those who meant well behaved in the same way as those who meant badly.
A really efficient totalitarian state would be one in which the all-powerful executive of political bosses and their army of managers control a population of slaves who do not have to be coerced, because they love their servitude.
The fitchew nor the soiled horse goes to't with a more riotous appetite.
We don't want to change. Every change is a menace to stability.
I want to know what passion is. I want to feel something strongly.
But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.
To be excited is still to be unsatisfied.
All our science is just a cookery book, with an orthodox theory of cooking that nobody's allowed to question, and a list of recipes that mustn't be added to except by special permission from the head cook.
The gods are just. No doubt. But their code of law is dictated, in the last resort, by the people who organize society; Providence takes its cue from men.
What's the point of truth or beauty or knowledge when anthrax bombs are popping all around you?
If one's different, one's bound to be lonely.
Happiness has got to be paid for. You're paying for it, Mr. Watson-paying because you happen to be too much interested in beauty. I was too much interested in truth; I paid too.
We are not our own any more than what we possess is our own. We did not make ourselves, we cannot be supreme over ourselves. We are not our own masters.
But as time goes on, they, as all men, will find that independence was not made for man- that it is an unnatural state- will do for a while, but will not carry us on safely to the end
Where there are wars, where there are divided allegiances, where there are temptations to be resisted, objects of love to be fought for or defended--there, obviously, nobility and heroism have some sense.
When people are suspicious with you, you start being suspicious with them.
In a word, they failed to take into account man's almost infinite appetite for distractions.
If ever I hear again of any lapse from a proper standard of infantile decorum, I shall ask for your transference to a Sub-Centre-preferably to Iceland. Good morning.
Words can be like X-rays if you use them properly -- they'll go through anything. You read and you're pierced.
Back to culture. Yes, actually to culture. You can't consume much if you sit still and read books.
You can only be independent of God while you've got youth and prosperity; independence won't take you safely to the end.
Whenever the masses seized political power, then it was happiness rather than truth and beauty that mattered.
Never put off till tomorrow the fun you can have today.
More Aldous Huxley Quotations (Based on Topics)
Man - Life - World - Science - People - Art - God - Truth - Love - Countries - Facts - History - Mind - Work & Career - Experience - Age - Wisdom & Knowledge - Pleasure - Thought & Thinking - View All Aldous Huxley Quotations
More Aldous Huxley Quotations (By Book Titles)
- Brave New World
- Crome Yellow
- The Genius And The Goddess
Leo Tolstoy - Thomas Hardy - Robertson Davies - Richard Bach - Katherine Dunn - Boris Pasternak - Arthur Koestler - Anne Bronte - Alexander Dumas - Aldous Huxley