All the papers that matter live off their advertisements, and the advertisers exercise an indirect censorship over news.

But you could not have pure love or pure lust nowadays. No emotion was pure, because everything was mixed up with fear and hatred. Their embrace had been a battle, the climax a victory. It was a blow struck against the Party. It was a political act.

Four legs good, two legs bad.

She's beautiful,' he murmured. 'She's a metre across the hips, easily,' said Julia. 'That is her style of beauty,' said Winston.

Perhaps a lunatic was simply a minority of one.

Sooner or later a false belief bumps up against solid reality, usually on a battlefield.

A dirty joke is not, of course, a serious attack on morality, but it is a sort of mental rebellion, a momentary wish that things were otherwise.