I felt something stir within me. It took a moment to recognise it. Anger.
The typical socialist. . . a prim little man with a white-collar job, usually a secret teetotaler and often with vegetarian leanings.
The war is not meant to be won, it is meant to be continuous.
Mankind is not likely to salvage civilization unless he can evolve a system of good and evil which is independent of heaven and hell.
What opinions the masses hold, or do not hold, is looked upon as a matter of indifference. They can be granted intellectual liberty becasue they have no intellect.
One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes a revolution in order to establish a dictatorship.
But the proles, if only they could somehow become conscious of their own strength, would have no need to conspire. They needed only to rise up and shake themselves like a horse shaking off flies. If they chose they could blow the Party to pieces tomorrow morning. Surely sooner or later it must occur to them to do it? And yet --!
I was wholly invested in my friendships. I might have tested them sometimes, but only to reassure myself that they were permanent. A mistake, of course.
If we do our deficit spending on weapons, at least we get weapons. Then if we need weapons, we have them. If we don't need them, no harm is done.
Well the planet I've got a chance to visit is Earth, and Earth's principal features are chaos and war. I think I'd be a fool to spend years here and never have a look.
Any time you burn a cross in Virginia, it's a crime?