One question at any rate was answered. Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it would stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes, he thought over and over.
The Hate continued exactly as before, except that the target had been changed.
Dickens hardly writes of war, even to denounce it.
It was true that there was no such person as Comrade Ogilvy, but a few lines of print and a couple of faked photographs would soon bring him into existence.
They were always cold, and usually hungry as well. Only Boxer and Clover never lost heart. Squealer made excellent speeches on the joy of service and the dignity of labor, but the other animals found more inspiration in Boxer's strength and his never-failing cry of I will work harder!
For if leisure and security were enjoyed by all alike, the great mass of human beings who are normally stupefied by poverty would become literate and would learn to think for themselves; and when once they had done this, they would sooner or later realise that the privileged minority had no function, and they would sweep it away.