English Author and Journalist, known for books "Animal Farm", and "Nineteen Eighty Four"
George Orwell, pen name of Eric Arthur Blair
English Author and Journalist, known for books "Animal Farm", and "Nineteen Eighty Four"
When you loved, loved it, and when we had nothing else to give, they gave her love.
WINSTON: I don't know - I don't care. Somehow you will fail. Something will defeat you. Life will defeat you. O'BRIAN: We control life, Winston, at all its levels. You are imagining that there is something called human nature which will be outraged by what we do and will turn against us. But we create human nature. Men are infinitely malleable. Or perhaps you have returned to your old idea that the proletarians or the slaves will arise and overthrow us. Put it out of your mind. They are helpless, like the animals. Humanity is the Party. The others are outside - irrelevant. WINSTON: I don't care. In the end they will beat you. Sooner or later they will see you for what you are, and then they will tear you to pieces. O'BRIAN: Do you see any evidence that this is happening? Or any reason why it should? WINSTON: No. I believe it. I know that you will fail. There is something in the universe - I don't know, some spirit, some principle - that you will never overcome. O'BRIAN: Do you believe in God, Winston? WINSTON: No. O'BRIAN: Then what is it, this principle that will defeat us? WINSTON: I don't know. The spirit of Man. O'BRIAN: And do you consider yourself a man? WINSTON: Yes. O'BRIAN: If you are a man, Winston, you are the last man. Your kind is extinct; we are the inheritors. Do you understand that you are alone? You are outside history, you are non-existent. His manner changed and he said more harshly:'And you consider yourself morally superior to us, with our lies and our cruelty?' WINSTON: Yes, I consider myself superior.'...You are the last man,' said O'Brien. 'You are the guardian of the human spirit.
You had to live - did live, from habit that became instinct - in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every moment scrutinized.
To walk through the ruined cities of Germany is to feel an actual doubt about the continuity of civilization.
War is not the original, but not necessarily that people do not need to destroy the products of human labor. War, more than the masses of people that will put at ease, so that the operation of tools and equipment for a long time too shattered to their heads, or the sending of the sea a way to send the stratosphere. ... The war occupation, in principle, always after you meet the needs of the people back to a simple Can be designed to consume the surplus.
We modify the language in the final version, which will have when no one else will speak. When finished, it will be people like you have to learn all over again. You might think that our main job is to invent new words. Absolutely not. We're destroying words - sea of words, hundreds a day. Otesáváme language to the bone. Eleventh Edition will not contain a single word that could become obsolete by 2050.
What is true today, it is true since time immemorial, and will remain so forever.
When you make love you're using up energy; and afterwards you feel happy and don't give a damn for anything. They can't bear you to feel like that. They want you to be bursting with energy all the time. All this marching up and down and cheering and waving flags is simply sex gone sour. If you're happy inside yourself, why should you get excited about Big Brother and the Three-Year Plans and the Two Minute Hate and all the rest of their bloody rot? That was very true, he thought. There was a direct, intimate connection between chastity and political orthodoxy. For how could the fear, the hatred, the lunatic credulity which the Party needed in its members be kept at the right pitch except by bottling down some powerful instinct in using it as a driving force? The sex impulse was dangerous to the party, and the party had turned it to account.
Within any important issue, there are always aspects no one wishes to discuss.
You must try harder. It is not easy to become sane.
To write or even speak English is not a science but an art. There are no reliable words. Whoever writes English is involved in a struggle that never lets up even for a sentence. He is struggling against vagueness, against obscurity, against the lure of the decorative adjective, against the encroachment of Latin and Greek, and, above all, against the worn-out phrases and dead metaphors with which the language is cluttered up.
War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength.
We of the sinking middle class may sink without further struggles into the working class where we belong, and probably when we get there it will not be so dreadful as we feared, for, after all, we have nothing to lose.
What matters above all is that the meaning governs the choice of words, and not the reverse. In terms of prose, the worst thing one can do with words is surrender to them. When you think of a concrete object, you do not need words, and if you want to describe what you view, you will probably be put in search terms that will seem most appropriate. When you think of an abstract concept, you are more inclined to use the words immediately, so unless a conscious effort to avoid this through the existing jargon is essential to you and makes your work Instead, the risk of blurring or even alter the direction of your thinking. No doubt it is better to refrain, to the extent possible, to use abstract terms and try to speak clearly through the image or sensation. Then we can choose - not simply accept - formulations that hem closer thought, then change perspective and see what impression they could have on others. This eliminates any mental effort or inconsistent reshuffled, all prefabricated phrases, needless repetition, and generally blur and dressing images.
When you meet anyone in the flesh you realize immediately that he is a human being and not a sort of caricature embodying certain ideas. It is partly for this reason that I don't mix much in literary circles, because I know from experience that once I have met and spoken to anyone I shall never again be able to feel any intellectual brutality towards him, even when I feel I ought to - like the Labor M.P.s who get patted on the back by dukes and are lost forever more.
Within certain limits, it is actually true that the less money you have, the less you worry.
You sleep safe in your beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do you harm.
Today there were fear, hatred, and pain, but no dignity of emotion, no deep or complex sorrows.
War is war. The only good human being is a dead one.
We saw that freedom is to die a hated.
What now strikes as remarkable about the new moneyed class of the nineteenth century is their complete irresponsibility; they see everything in terms of individual success, with hardly any consciousness that the community exists.
While freely conceding that the Soviet regime exhibits certain features which the humanitarian may be inclined to deplore, we must, I think, agree that a certain curtailment of the right to political opposition is an unavoidable concomitant of transitional periods, and that the rigors which the Russian people have been called upon to undergo have been amply justified in the sphere of concrete achievement.
Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.
You think—I dare say that our chief job is inventing new words. But not a bit of it We’re destroying words—scores of them hundreds of them every day. It’s a beautiful thing the destruction of words. Of course the great wastage is in the verbs and adjectives but there are hundreds of nouns that can be got rid of as well. It isn’t only the synonyms there are also the antonyms.
Totalitarianism, however, does not so much promise an age of faith as an age of schizophrenia. A society becomes totalitarian when its structure becomes flagrantly artificial: that is, when its ruling class has lost its function but succeeds in clinging to power by force or fraud. Such a society, no matter how long it persists, can never afford to become either tolerant or intellectually stable. It can never permit either the truthful recording of facts or the emotional sincerity that literary creation demands. But to be corrupted by totalitarianism one does not have to live in a totalitarian country. The mere prevalence of certain ideas can spread a kind of poison that makes one subject after another impossible for literary purposes. Wherever there is an enforced orthodoxy — or even two orthodoxies, as often happens — good writing stops. This was well illustrated by the Spanish civil war. To many English intellectuals the war was a deeply moving experience, but not an experience about which they could write sincerely. There were only two things that you were allowed to say, and both of them were palpable lies: as a result, the war produced acres of print but almost nothing worth reading.