And yet, just for a moment, what almost frightening power had sounded in that cry from only a few hundred throats! Why was it that they could never shout like that about anything that mattered?
He felt as though he were wandering in the forests of the sea bottom, lost in a monstrous world where he himself was the monster. He was alone. The past was dead, the future was unimaginable
In the face of pain there are no heroes.
One question at any rate was answered. Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could wish only one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes, he thought over and over as he writhed on the floor, clutching uselessly at his disabled left arm.
That the Party did not seek power for its own ends, but only for the good of the majority. That it sought power because men in the mass were frail cowardly creatures who could not endure liberty or face the truth, and must be ruled over and systematically deceived by others who were stronger than themselves. That the choice for mankind lay between freedom and happiness, and that, for the great bulk of mankind, happiness was better.
The room was a world, a pocket of the past where extinct animals could walk
We know that no one ever seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it.
Your worst enemy, he reflected, was your nervous system. At any moment the tension inside you was liable to translate itself into some visible symptom.
Windmill or no windmill, he said, life would go on as it had always gone on--that is, badly.
Any kind of organized revolt against the party, which was bound to be a failure, struck her as stupid. The clever thing to do was to break the rules and stay alive all the same.
He had the sensation of stepping into the dampness of a grave, and it was not much better because he had always known that the grave was there and waiting for him.
It could not have been ten seconds, and yet it seemed a long time that their hands were clasped together. He had time to learn every detail of her hand.
Partly it was a sort of hymn to the wisdom and majesty of Big Brother, but still more it was an act of self-hypnosis, a deliberate drowning of consciousness by means of rhythmic noise.
The choice for mankind lies between freedom and happiness and for the great bulk of mankind, happiness is better.
The secret of rulership is to combine a belief in one's own infallibility with a power to learn from past mistakes.
We shall abolish the orgasm. Our neurologists are at work upon it now.
All men are enemies. All animals are comrades
Applied to an opponent, it is abuse, applied to someone you agree with, it is praise.
He who controls the past controls the future. He who controls the present controls the past.
It had never occurred to him that the body of a woman of fifty, blown up to monstrous dimensions by childbearing, then hardened, roughened by work til it was coarse in the grain like an overripe turnip, could be beautiful. But is was so, and after all, he thought, why not?
Perhaps it is only when people are somewhere near the starvation level that they have anything to sing about.
The consequences of every act are included in the act itself.
The two aims of the Party are to conquer the whole surface of the earth and to extinguish once and for all the possiblity of independent thought. There are therefore two great problems which the Party is concerned to solve. One is how to discover against his will what another human being is thinking and the other is how to kill several hundred million people in a few seconds without giving warning beforehand.
We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness.
Between pigs and human beings there was not and there need not be any clash of interest whatsoever.
But the thought of being a lunatic did not greatly trouble him; the horror was that he might also be wrong.
He wondered vaguely how many others like here there might be in the younger generation, people who had grown up in the world of the Revolution, knowing nothing else, accepting the Party as something unalterable, like the sky, not rebelling against its authority but simply evading it, as a rabbit dodges a dog.
It is deliberate policy to keep even the favoured groups somewhere near the brink of hardship, because a general state of scarcity increases the importance of small privileges and thus magnifies the distinction between one group and another.
Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood.
The end was contained in the beginning.
The urge to shout filthy words at the top of his voice was as strong as ever.
What happens to you here is forever.
Clover was a stout motherly mare approaching middle life, who had never quite got her figure back after her fourth foal.
But you could not have pure love or pure lust nowadays. No emotion was pure, because everything was mixed up with fear and hatred. Their embrace had been a battle, the climax a victory. It was a blow struck against the Party. It was a political act.
His whole mind and body seemed to be afflicted with an unbearable sensitivity, a sort of transparency, which made every movement, every sound, every contact, every word that he had to speak or listen to, an agony. Even in sleep he could not altogether escape form her image.
It was like struggling with some physical task, something which one had the right to refuse and which one was nevertheless neurotically anxious to accomplish.
Power is in inflicting pain and humiliation.
The enemy of the moment always represented absolute evil, and it followed that any past or future agreement with him was impossible.
The weariness of the cell is the vigour of the organism.
What is not hereditary cannot be permanent.
D?s,ar?daki hayvanlar, bir domuzlar?n yüzlerine, bir insanlar?n yüzlerine bak?yor, ama birbirlerinden ay?rt edemiyorlard?.
Confession is not betrayal. What you say or do doesn't matter; only feelings matter. If they could make me stop loving you-that would be the real betrayal.
How could you communicate with the future? It was impossible. Either the future would resemble the present in which case it would not listen to him, or it would be different from it, and his predicament would be meaningless.
It was like swimming against a current that swept you backwards however hard you struggled, and then suddenly deciding to turn round and go with the current instead of opposing it. Nothing had changed except your own attitude: the predestined thing happened in any case.
Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing.
The family had become in effect an extension of the Thought Police. It was a device by means of which everyone could be surrounded night and day by informers who knew him intimately.
The whole incident could not have taken as much as half a minute. Not to let one's feelings appear in one's face was a habit that had acquired the status of an instinct, and in any case they had been standing straight in front of a telescreen when the thing happened. Nevertheless it had been very difficult not to betray a momentary surprise, for in the two or three seconds while he was helping her up the girl had slipped something into his hand.
What was happening was only the working-out of a process that had started years ago. The first step had been a secret, involuntary thought, the second had been the opening of the diary. He had moved from thoughts to words, and now from words to actions. The last step was something that would happen in the Ministry of Love. He had accepted it. The end was contained in the beginning.
He would say that God had given him a tail to keep, but he would sooner have had no tail and no flies - Benjamin the Donkey
Day by day and almost minute by minute the past was brought up to date. In this way every prediction made by the Party could be shown by documentary evidence to have been correct; nor was any item of news, or any expression of opinion, which conflicted with the needs of the moment, ever allowed to remain on record. All history was a palimpsest, scraped clean and reinscribed exactly as often as was necessary.
More George Orwell Quotations (Based on Topics)
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