Under the spreading chestnut tree I sold you and you sold me--

What was happening was only the working-out of a process that had started years ago. The first step had been a secret, involuntary thought, the second had been the opening of the diary. He had moved from thoughts to words, and now from words to actions. The last step was something that would happen in the Ministry of Love. He had accepted it. The end was contained in the beginning.

[Political] prose consists less and less of words chosen for the sake of their meaning, and more and more of phrases tacked together like the sections of a prefabricated hen-house.

Nothing holds it together except an idea which is indestructible.

The more men you've had, the more I love you.

Surely, comrades, you don't want Jones back?

History has to move in a certain direction, even if it has to be pushed that way by neurotics.