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.
Silence in love betrays more woe - Than words though ne'er so witty; A beggar that is dumb, you know, may challenge double pity.
To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.
We are about to part," said Neville. "Here are the boxes; here are the cabs. There is Percival in his billycock hat. He will forget me. He will leave my letters lying about among guns and dogs unaswered. I shall send him poems and he will perhaps reply with a picture post card. But it is for that that I love him. I shall propose a meeting - under a clock, by some Cross; and shall wait and he will not come. It is for that that I love him.
If I had time in a bottle, if words could make wishes come true, I'd save everyday for eternity passes. And then I would spend them with you.
The truth was that I could not manage my soul, and I was becoming aware of old age because of my weakness in the face of love.
There is a tremendous relief in knowing that {God's} love to me is utterly realistic, based at every point on prior knowledge of the worst about me, so that no discovery now can disillusion Him about me, in the way I am so often disillusioned about myself, and quench His determination to bless me.
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