Julia

Once she asked if it made him feel better to know more than other people. He said tartly, “My feelings don’t matter in the least. What matters is what’s true.

It was what Julia had been thinking for weeks, but now she said, You mustn't think that. It was they who made you — 'Oh, rubbish! Who's they? I'm at Central Committee. Youre Thought Police. We're they! That's just why we've got to get out.

In Winston’s dream, his woman would agree to any moral enormity, if it was what he wished.

All was false. It was known to be false, but everyone lied about the lies, until no one knew where the lies began and ended.

Party members can’t think independently. They have lost the capacity to dream of something different. If there is any hope – I don’t say that there is – it must lie in the proles.

A few times, though, Julia found the real article, a man or woman who screeched hate slogans with a face distorted by real fury. These people were dissatisfied with the scale of the violence, and muttered about the real reckoning to come. It was intolerable to them to think that an enemy existed who was not suffering. They instinctively worked to hate the enemy more, and to convince other people to hate them more. If a Party member was too casual in his hatred, they saw it as a monstrous moral crime. The very thought of such things could make them lose control and sputter with incoherent rage. Their hands trembled and tears came to their eyes as violent scenes played in their minds, in which the atrocities of the enemy mingled with the gruesome punishments coming to him.

Only because I prefer a positive to a negative. In this game that we're playing, we can't win. Some kinds of failure are better than other kinds, that's all?

Things will happen to you from which you could not recover, if you lived a thousand years. Never again will you be capable of ordinary human feeling. Everything will be dead inside you. Never again will you be capable of love, or friendship, or joy of living , or laughter, or curiosity, or courage, or integrity. You will be hollow. We shall squeeze you empty, and then we shall fill you with ourselves.

Oh, yes. You betrayed me. I remember. They told me about it so many times.’ ‘I did. I should like to have saved you, but I had no choice.’ ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘That’s the horrid thing. One has no choice, and yet one must live through it exactly as if one had.