Quote of the Day

Of course, if you have any chance of overcoming your miseries, then it would be much better for you to do that, but if you are like me and don't see any real chance of that ever happening, then, yeah, sure, books have to be better than drugs and alcoholism.

Quote of the Day

Of course, if you have any chance of overcoming your miseries, then it would be much better for you to do that, but if you are like me and don't see any real chance of that ever happening, then, yeah, sure, books have to be better than drugs and alcoholism.

1984 (2,9) Reading

We get to come up for air from Goldstein’s book for a brief spell, and Orwell shares with us a reflective note on reading and the books we tend to favor, pointing out that thinkers and readers tended to fall into an echo chamber long before the Internet, and it perhaps has always been so. Birds of a feather and all of that.

__ __ __

Winston stopped reading for a moment. Somewhere in remote distance a rocket bomb thundered. The blissful feeling of being alone with the forbidden book, in a room with no telescreen, had not worn off. Solitude and safety were physical sensations, mixed up somehow with the tiredness of his body, the softness of the chair, the touch of the faint breeze from the window that played upon his cheek. The book fascinated him, or more exactly it reassured him. In a sense it told him nothing that was new, but that was part of the attraction. It said what he would have said, if it had been possible for him to set his scattered thoughts in order. It was the product of a mind similar to his own, but enormously more powerful, more systematic, less fear-ridden. The best books, he perceived, are those that tell you what you know already.

-- “1984” by George Orwell

1984 (2,9) Reading

We get to come up for air from Goldstein’s book for a brief spell, and Orwell shares with us a reflective note on reading and the books we tend to favor, pointing out that thinkers and readers tended to fall into an echo chamber long before the Internet, and it perhaps has always been so. Birds of a feather and all of that.

__ __ __

Winston stopped reading for a moment. Somewhere in remote distance a rocket bomb thundered. The blissful feeling of being alone with the forbidden book, in a room with no telescreen, had not worn off. Solitude and safety were physical sensations, mixed up somehow with the tiredness of his body, the softness of the chair, the touch of the faint breeze from the window that played upon his cheek. The book fascinated him, or more exactly it reassured him. In a sense it told him nothing that was new, but that was part of the attraction. It said what he would have said, if it had been possible for him to set his scattered thoughts in order. It was the product of a mind similar to his own, but enormously more powerful, more systematic, less fear-ridden. The best books, he perceived, are those that tell you what you know already.

-- “1984” by George Orwell

Mr. Saturday Night

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Mr. Saturday Night

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