Reading Room
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions.
The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end a coloured poster, too large for the room, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-five.
BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran. Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of figures which had something to do with the production of pig-iron.
WAR IS PEACE
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
The telescreen received and transmitted simultaneously. Any sound Winston made, above the level of a very low whisper, would be picked up by it; moreover, so long as he remained within the field of vision which the metal plaque commanded, he could be seen as well as heard.
A squat grey building of only thirty-four stories. Over the main entrance the words, CENTRAL LONDON HATCHERY AND CONDITIONING CENTRE, and, in a shield, the World State's motto, COMMUNITY, IDENTITY, STABILITY.
"Ending is better than mending. The more stitches, the less riches; the more stitches, the less riches; the more stitches..." The students nodded, emphatically agreeing with a statement which sixty-two thousand repetitions had made them accept without question.
O brave new world, that has such people in it.
In the week before their departure to Arrakis, when all the final scurrying about had reached a nearly unbearable frenzy, an old crone came to visit the mother of the boy, Paul.
I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. When it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
The mystery of life isn't a problem to solve, but a reality to experience.
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me
as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease
observing a spear of summer grass.
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world.
Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses... then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
From hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee.
On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge.
He had successfully avoided meeting his landlady on the staircase. His garret was under the roof of a high, five-storied house and was more like a cupboard than a room.
Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart.
Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday; I can't be sure. The telegram from the Home says: YOUR MOTHER PASSED AWAY. FUNERAL TOMORROW. DEEP SYMPATHY.
In the face of this night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world.
I have lived my life one way and I could just as well have lived it another. I had done this and I hadn't done that. I hadn't done this thing but I had done another.
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