The more men you’ve had, the more I love you.
For the future. For the unborn.
Writing a novel is agony.
We are the dead. Our only true life is in the future. We shall take part in it as handfuls of dust and splinters of bone. But how far away that future may be, there is no knowing.
Between pigs and human beings there was not and there need not be any clash of interest whatsoever.
In all the useful arts the world is either standing still or going backwards.
If you are a man, Winston, you are the last man.
The enemy of the moment always represented absolute evil, and it followed that any past or future agreement with him was impossible.
No doubt alcohol, tobacco, and so forth, are things that a saint must avoid; but sainthood is also a thing that human beings must avoid.
The consequences of every act are included in the act itself.
What happens to you here is forever.
Under the spreading chestnut tree I sold you and you sold me –.
Winston Smith: Does Big Brother exist? O’Brien: Of course he exists. Winston Smith: Does he exist like you or me? O’Brien: You do not exist.
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.
There exists a huge dump of worn-out metaphors which have lost all evocative power and are merely used because they save people the trouble of inventing phrases for themselves.
You would not make the act of submission which is the price of sanity.
The weariness of the cell is the vigour of the organism.
We shall abolish the orgasm. Our neurologists are at work upon it now.
What is to be expected of them is not treachery, or physcial cowardice, but stupidity, unconscious sabotage, an infallible instinct for doing the wrong thing.
I hate purity, I hate goodness! I don’t want virtue to exist anywhere. I want everyone to be corrupt to the bones.