The men who were well enough to stand had moved across the carriage to cheer the Italians as they went past. A crutch waved out of the window; bandaged forearms made the Red Salute. It was like an allegorical picture of war; the trainload of fresh men gliding proudly up the line, the maimed men sliding slowly down, and all the while the guns on the open trucks making one's heart leap as guns always do, and reviving that pernicious feeling, so difficult to get rid of, that war *is* glorious after all.

Whoever is winning at the moment will always seem to be invincible.

...the object of waging a war is always to be in a better position in which to wage another war.

It is curious how people take it for granted that they have a right to preach at you and pray over you as soon as your income falls below a certain level.

Day by day and almost minute by minute the past was brought up to date. In this way every prediction made by the Party could be shown by documentary evidence to have been correct; nor was any item of news, or any expression of opinion, which conflicted with the needs of the moment, ever allowed to remain on record. All history was a palimpsest, scraped clean and reinscribed exactly as often as was necessary.

Those who 'abjure' violence can do so only because others are committing violence on their behalf.

Journalism is printing what someone else does not want printed: everything else is public relations.