Clover was a stout motherly mare approaching middle life, who had never quite got her figure back after her fourth foal.

If you loved someone, you loved him, and when you had nothing else to give, you still gave him love. When the last of the chocolate was gone, his mother had clasped the child in her arms. It was no use, it changed nothing, it did not produce more chocolate, it did not avert the child's death or her own; but it seemed natural to her to do it.

The words kept coming back to him, statement of a mystical truth and a palpable absurdity.

The most effective way to destroy people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history.

A man may take to drink because he feels himself to be a failure, and then fail all the more completely because he drinks. It is rather the same thing that is happening to the English language. It becomes ugly and inaccurate because our thoughts are foolish, but the slovenliness of our language makes it easier for us to have foolish thoughts.

Certainly it was his own face, but it seemed to him that it had changed more than he had change inside. The emotions it registered would be different from the ones he felt.

Orthodoxy means not thinking—not needing to think. Orthodoxy is unconsciousness.