1984

           ‘Youarerottingaway,’hesaid;‘youarefallingtopieces. Whatareyou? Abagoffilth. Nowturnaroundandlookintothatmirroragain. Doyouseethatthingfacingyou? Thatisthelastman. Ifyouarehuman,thatishumanity. Nowputyourclothesonagain.’ 

           Winstonbegantodresshimselfwithslowstiffmovements. Untilnowhehadnotseemedtonoticehowthinandweakhewas. Onlyonethoughtstirredinhismind: thathemusthavebeeninthisplacelongerthanhehadimagined. Thensuddenlyashefixedthemiserableragsroundhimselfafeelingofpityforhisruinedbodyovercamehim. Beforeheknewwhathewasdoinghehadcollapsedontoasmallstoolthatstoodbesidethebedandburstintotears. Hewasawareofhisugliness,hisgracelessness,abundleofbonesinfilthyunderclothessittingweepingintheharshwhitelight:buthecouldnotstophimself. O’Brienlaidahandonhisshoulder,almostkindly. 

           ‘Itwillnotlastforever,’hesaid. ‘Youcanescapefromitwheneveryouchoose. Everythingdependsonyourself.’ 

           ‘Youdidit!’sobbedWinston. ‘Youreducedmetothisstate.’ 

           ‘No,Winston,youreducedyourselftoit. ThisiswhatyouacceptedwhenyousetyourselfupagainsttheParty. Itwasallcontainedinthatfirstact. Nothinghashappenedthatyoudidnotforesee.’ 

           Hepaused,andthenwenton: 

           ‘Wehavebeatenyou,Winston. Wehavebrokenyouup. Youhaveseenwhatyourbodyislike. Yourmindisinthesamestate. Idonotthinktherecanbemuchprideleftinyou.