Political language... is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind.

It was soon noticed that when ever there was work to be done the cat could never be found.

The words kept coming back to him, statement of a mystical truth and a palpable absurdity.

If he were allowed contact with foreigners he would discover that they are creatures similar to himself and that most of what he has been told about them is lies. The sealed world in which he lives would be broken, and the fear, hatred and self-righteousness on which his morale depends might evaporate.

It is a mysterious thing, the loss of faith—as mysterious as faith itself.

The past was erased, the erasure was forgotten, the lie became the truth.

The smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her skin seemed to have got inside him, or into the air all round him. She had become a physical necessity.