George Orwell

clipped his speakwritten corrections

they have simply been trapped by a routine which makes thought impossible

with a wise and benevolent appearance in spite of his tushes 3

window: a smallish, frail figure, the meagerness of his body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the Party. His hair was very fair, his face naturally sanguine, his skin roughened by coarse soap and blunt razor blades and the cold of the winter that had just ended. Outside, even through the shut window

Був ясний холодний квітневий день, годинник показував рівно тринадцять нуль-нуль. Вінстон Сміт, занурившись у комір свого пальто так, що підборіддя майже торкалося грудей, поспішав якнайшвидше врятуватися від мерзенного колючого вітру, тому хутко прослизнув скрізь скляні двері багатоповерхового житлового будинку «Перемога», але, як виявилось, недостатньо швидко, бо вихор зернистого пилу все ж увірвався до приміщення разом із ним.

said. OBrien had not long ago known any idea that he had ever had, or could have.

Tell me, what did you think of me before that day I gave you the note?” He did not feel any temptation to tell lies to her. “I hated the sight of you,” he said. “I wanted to rape you and then murder you afterwards. Two weeks ago I thought seriously of smashing your head in with a cobblestone.