A man who gives a good account of himself is probably lying, since any life when viewed from the inside is simply a series of defeats.

Man serves the interests of no creature except himself.

It was like swimming against a current that swept you backwards however hard you struggled, and then suddenly deciding to turn round and go with the current instead of opposing it. Nothing had changed except your own attitude: the predestined thing happened in any case.

And yet, just for a moment, what almost frightening power had sounded in that cry from only a few hundred throats! Why was it that they could never shout like that about anything that mattered?

Nationalism is power hunger tempered by self-deception.

How could you make appeal to the future when not a trace of you, not even an anonymous word scribbled on a piece of paper, could physically survive?

The Revolution will be complete when the language is perfect.