1984

           Asleeporawake,workingoreating,indoorsoroutofdoors,inthebathorinbed—noescape. Nothingwasyourownexceptthefewcubiccentimetresinsideyourskull. 

           Thesunhadshiftedround, andthemyriadwindowsoftheMinistryofTruth,withthelightnolongershiningonthem,lookedgrimastheloopholesofafortress. Hisheartquailedbeforetheenormouspyramidalshape. Itwastoostrong,itcouldnotbestormed. Athousandrocketbombswouldnotbatteritdown. Hewonderedagainforwhomhewaswritingthediary. Forthefuture,forthepast—foranagethatmightbeimaginary. Andinfrontofhimtherelaynotdeathbutannihilation. Thediarywouldbereducedtoashesandhimselftovapour. OnlytheThoughtPolicewouldreadwhathehadwritten,beforetheywipeditoutofexistenceandoutofmemory. Howcouldyoumakeappealtothefuturewhennotatraceofyou,notevenananonymouswordscribbledonapieceofpaper,couldphysicallysurvive? 

           Thetelescreenstruckfourteen. Hemustleaveintenminutes. Hehadtobebackatworkbyfourteen-thirty. 

           Curiously,thechimingofthehourseemedtohaveputnewheartintohim. Hewasalonelyghostutteringatruththatnobodywouldeverhear. Butsolongasheutteredit,insomeobscurewaythecontinuitywasnotbroken. Itwasnotbymakingyourselfheardbutbystayingsanethatyoucarriedonthehumanheritage. Hewentbacktothetable,dippedhispen,andwrote: 

           Tothefutureortothepast,toatimewhenthoughtisfree,whenmenaredifferentfromoneanotheranddonotlivealone —toatimewhentruthexistsandwhatisdonecannotbeundone: 

           Fromtheageofuniformity,fromtheageofsolitude,fromtheageofBigBrother,fromtheageofdoublethink—greetings!