But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.
"All right then," said the savage defiantly, I'm claiming the right to be unhappy." "Not to mention the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have syphilis and cancer; the right to have too little to eat, the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what may happen tomorrow; the right to catch typhoid; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind." There was a long silence. "I claim them all," said the Savage at last.
All right then," said the Savage defiantly, "I'm claiming the right to be unhappy.
No social stability without individual stability.
Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the overcompensations for misery. And, of course, stability isn't nearly so spectacular as instability. And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt. Happiness is never grand.
We are not our own any more than what we possess is our own. We did not make ourselves, we cannot be supreme over ourselves. We are not our own masters.
O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't!
But every one belongs to every one else
Universal happiness keeps the wheels steadily turning, truth and beauty can't.
And there's always soma to calm your anger, to reconcile you to your enemies, to make you patient and long-suffering. In the past, you could only accomplish these things by making a great effort and after years of hard moral training. Now, you swallow two or three half-gramme tablets, and there you are. Anybody can be virtuous now. You can carry at least half your morality about in a bottle. Christianity without tears-that's what soma is.
"But that's the price we have to pay for stability. You've got to choose between happiness and what people used to call high art. We've sacrificed the high art.
Lying in bed, he would think of Heaven and London.
One of the principal functions of a friend is to suffer (in a milder and symbolic form) the punishments that we should like, but are unable, to inflict upon our enemies.
When the individual feels, the community reels.
Hug me till you drug me, honey; Kiss me till I'm in a coma.
We can't allow science to undo its own good work.
All conditioning aims at that: making people like their inescapable social destiny.
All the advantages of Christianity and alcohol; none of their defects.
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport.
The more stitches, the less riches.
Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the over-compensations for misery.
While he was drunk asleep, or in his rage, or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed.
What man has joined, nature is powerless to put asunder.
Slowly, very slowly, like two unhurried compass needles, the feet turned towards the right; north, north-east, east, south-east, south, south-south-west; then paused, and after a few seconds, turned as unhurriedly back towards the left. South-south-west, south, south-east, east.
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