He [George Orwell] would not blow his nose without moralising on conditions in the handkerchief industry.

A writer is in danger of allowing his talent to dull who lets more than a year go past without finding himself in his rightful place of composition, the small single unluxurious retreat of the twentieth century, the hotel bedroom.

Everyone has the right to express an opinion. No one has the right to be listened to.

If our elaborate and dominating bodies are given us to be denied at every turn, if our nature is always wrong and wicked, how ineffectual we are; like fishes not meant to swim.

As repressed sadists are supposed to become policemen or butchers so those with an irrational fear of life become publishers.

Idleness is only a coarse name for my infinite capacity for living in the present.

Everything is a dangerous drug except reality which is unendurable.