If one harbours anywhere in one's mind a nationalistic loyalty or hatred, certain facts, although in a sense known to be true, are inadmissible.
George OrwellRead
Confession is not betrayal. What you say or do doesn't matter; only feelings matter. If they could make me stop loving you-that would be the real betrayal.
Interpretation
Confession is an expression of true emotions and does not constitute betrayal of feelings.
In this quote, George Orwell emphasizes that the act of confessing feelings for someone is not a betrayal, but rather a reflection of one's true emotions. He suggests that what truly matters in love is the feeling itself, and if oneβs affections could be extinguished by external influences, that would be a deeper betrayal than any admission of feelings could ever be.
In practice
A speaker at a relationship seminar discussing the importance of honesty in love could use this quote.
If one harbours anywhere in one's mind a nationalistic loyalty or hatred, certain facts, although in a sense known to be true, are inadmissible.
The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.
Political writing in our time consists almost entirely of prefabricated phrases bolted together like the pieces of a child's Meccano set. It is the unavoidable result of self-censorship. To write in plain, vigorous language one has to think fearlessly, and if one thinks fearlessly one cannot be politically orthodox.
Not to expose your true feelings to an adult seems to be instinctive from the age of seven or eight onwards.
As with the Christian religion, the worst advertisement for Socialism is its adherents.
It is fatal to look hungry. It makes people want to kick you.
Love feels no burden, regards not labors, strives toward more than it attains, argues not of impossibility, since it believes that it may and can do all things.
Learning to love others begins with learning to love ourselves unconditionally first. I will never let myself down, treat myself like a doormat, or make myself small so others can feel big. I have learned that this is the biggest gift that I give not only to myself, but also to the planet, because I paint others with the same brush as I use on myself.
He shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen.
Ah, me, if this is love, then how it torments.
There is no death, daughter. People die only when we forget them,' my mother explained shortly before she left me. 'If you can remember me, I will be with you always.
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