As a rule they will refuse even to sample a foreign dish, they regard such things as garlic and olive oil with disgust, life is unliveable to them unless they have tea and puddings.

Thoughtcrime does not entail death: thoughtcrime IS death.

The very word 'war', therefore, has become misleading. It would probably be accurate to say that by becoming continuous war has ceased to exist. ... War is Peace.

She was very young...she still expected something from life, she did not understand that to push an inconvenient person over a cliff solves nothing.

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.

All writers are vain, selfish and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives lies a mystery.

A generation of the unteachable is hanging upon us like a necklace of corpses.