Author of quotes: George Orwell. Page 4

The worst is socialism (like Christianity) - his followers.

Best books say what is known without them.

Every generation considers itself more intelligent than the previous and wiser than the next.

And clearer than before, he realized what it hates. Because young and pretty and sexless, and that he wants to sleep with her and could never do; for what delicate slim waist, as if created in order to put his arms around her - not his hand, and the scarlet sash, aggressive symbol of chastity.

"If I could save Julia by doubling my own suffering, I would go for it? he asked himself. And he answered: Yes, I would have gone". Alas, this is just philosophizing. He knew he should answer, and all his determination not more than duty. It is the mind talking and not your heart. Here anything it is impossible to feel, only pain and only pain waiting. And besides, feeling pain, who could ask for anything, it's strengthening? No, to this question he could not answer.

Everything that surrounded Winston, caused an attack of anger. Has always been? Is it the taste of food has always been so? He looked around the dining room. Close, a crowded room with a low ceiling and walls zameshannye from thousands and thousands of backs and sides. A rickety metal tables and chairs were so tightly that people were touching each other's elbows. Bent spoons, broken trays, coarse white mugs, fatty, embedded in every crack dirt. And the constant sour smell disgusting Gina, bad coffee, burnt roast and unwashed clothes. Always stomach skin - you felt that you took away something that you have every right to. Yes, of course, he didn't remember that life was at least something significantly better. Always his memory was not enough food, everyone had worn socks and underwear, furniture is old and rickety, room - unheated, subway trains - crowded house falling apart, the bread was dark, the tea was the greatest rarity, and coffee taste disgusting, and the cigarettes were not enough. Only was lacking, and everything was very expensive, except for the artificial gene. Of course, it is understandable why, the longer you're taking this harder and harder. But isn't that a sign of abnormality of life if you to the inside sneaks from this disorder and dirt, this perpetual deficit, endless winters, sticky socks, broken elevators, cold water, rough soap, crumbling cigarettes and nasty food? Why it all seems unbearable?

And then his head appeared almost ready image of a certain comrade Ogilvy, who had recently died heroically in battle. It happened that Big Brother devoted his Order of the Day to the glorification of some humble, ordinary Party member whose life and death served as a worthy example to follow. Even at this time, he will glorify comrade Ogilvy. Of course, no comrade Ogilvy had never existed in nature, but a few lines in the newspaper and a couple of faked photographs would make his existence very real.

To know and not to know, to have the complete truth and speak carefully fabricated lie, to simultaneously adhere to two contradictory opinions, knowing that they contradict one another, and believe both to turn logic against logic, not to recognize morals and at the same time swear by this morality, to believe that democracy is impossible, and to assert that the Party upholds democracy, to forget everything ordered to forget, and then, if necessary, to re-remember it and, most importantly, to apply this dialectic to the dialectic itself. This was the highest achievement: deliberately impose unconsciousness and then to forget that you were hypnotized. Even to understand the word "doublethink", it was necessary to apply doublethink.

For whom he writes a diary? he thought again. For the future? For the past? One way or another - for the imaginary world. And he himself waited not death elimination. Diary will turn to ash, and he in pairs. Only the Thought Police read the diary before you destroy these pages and the memory of them. How can we look towards the future when you're not will be gone, won't even anonymous word scribbled on a piece of paper?

They were everywhere - on coins, on stamps, on the covers of books, on banners and posters, even on cigarette packs. Eyes have always seen you as the voice of the monitor was catching up everywhere. So it was night and day when you worked and when you eat, indoors and outdoors, in the bath and in bed - everywhere. There was nowhere to run. You have nothing of his, except that a few cubic centimeters inside your skull.

In fifty years, each of us has such a person deserved.

It paid, she said, it was camouflage. If you kept the small rules you could break the big.

Dreams! Illusion. No matter how many people, and the disaster at all enough, plenty for everyone.
If you have something especially for you dear, you it better say goodbye right now, because all the usual and expensive falls into the manure pit from banging out without respite by the machine guns.

Is it possible to return to the life that you once lived, or that life is gone forever? Well, now I knew. The old life dies.