Brave new world.
Thought is crude, matter unimaginably subtle.
Habit is as fatal to a sense of wrongdoing as to active enjoyment.
Embryos are like photograph film,” said Mr. Foster waggishly, as he pushed open the second door. “They can only stand red light.” And in effect the sultry darkness into which the students now followed him was visible and crimson, like the darkness of closed eyes on a summer’s afternoon.
The fitchew nor the soiled horse goes to’t with a more riotous appetite.
In the final stage of egolessness there is an obscure knowledge that All is in all – that All is actually each. This is as near, I take it, as a finite mind can ever come to perceiving everything that is happening everywhere in the universe.
You can’t learn a science unless you know what it’s all about.
William Asquith Farnaby was nothing but a muddy filter, on the hither side of which human beings, nature, and even his beloved art had emerged bedimmed and bemired, less, other and uglier than themselves.
A people’s theology reflects the state of it’s children’s bottoms.
I’ll teach you; I’ll make you be free whether you want to be or not.
He would think of Heaven and London and Our Lady of Acoma and the rows and rows of babies in clean bottles and Jesus flying up and Linda flying up and the great Director of World hatcheries and Awonawilona.
Is it true that human beings are nothing but the products of their social environment? And if it is not true, what justification can there be for maintaining that the individual is less important than the group of which he is a member?
Thanks to technological progress, Big Brother can now be almost as omnipresent as God.
In the Brave New World of my prophetic fable technology had advanced far beyond the point it had reached in Hitler’s day; consequently the recipients of orders were far less critical than their Nazi counterparts, far more obedient to the order-giving elite.
In 1984 the lust for power is satisfied by inflicting pain; in Brave New World, by inflicting a hardly less humiliating pleasure.
Yes, we inevitably turn to God; for this religious sentiment is of its nature so pure, so delightful to the soul that experiences it, that it makes up to us for all our other losses.
That’s why,” he said speaking with averted face, “I wanted to do something first. I mean, to show I was worthy of you. Not that I could ever really be that. But at any rate to show I wasn’t absolutely un-worthy. I wanted to do something.
Familiarity breeds indifference.
Beauty is worse than wine, it intoxicates both the holder and beholder.
Your true traveller finds boredom rather agreeable than painful. It is the symbol of his liberty – his excessive freedom. He accepts his boredom, when it comes, not merely philosophically, but almost with pleasure.