Political writing in our time consists almost entirely of prefabricated phrases bolted together like the pieces of a child's Meccano set. It is the unavoidable result of self-censorship. To write in plain, vigorous language one has to think fearlessly, and if one thinks fearlessly one cannot be politically orthodox.

In real life it is always the anvil that breaks the hammer.

In moments of crisis one is never fighting against an external enemy but always against one's own body.

Each generation imagines itself to be more intelligent than the one that went before it, and wiser than the one that comes after it.

Comrades," he said, "here is a point that must be settled. The wild creatures, such as rats and rabbits–are they our friends or our enemies? Let us put it to the vote. I propose this question to the meeting: Are rats comrades?" The vote was taken at once, and it was agreed by an overwhelming majority that rats were comrades. There were only four dissentients, the three dogs and the cat, who was afterwards discovered to have voted on both sides.

The truth, it is felt, becomes untruth when your enemy utters it.

Progress is not an illusion, it happens, but it is slow and invariably disappointing.