"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."
"In fact," said Mustapha Mond [bad guy], "you're claiming the right to be unhappy."
"All right then," said the Savage defiantly, "I'm claiming the right be to unhappy."
"Not to mention the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have sypilis 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.
I finished this incredible book last night. Disturbing, compelling, and eye-opening. Those are all words that come to my mind. But I would definitely recommend it for adults who want to think deeply (which I would hope of every adult). Aldous Huxley is a magnificent writer.
The book in a sentence speaks of never giving in to cultural ideas, fighting against the tide, spending your energies on what matters, even when it looks like it doesn't matter...
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Brave new WORLD
"I'd rather be myself. Myself and nasty. Not somebody else, however jolly."
"That'll teach him" [the director] said to himself. But he was mistaken. For Bernard left the room with a swagger, exulting, as he banged the door behind him, in the thought that he stood alone, embattled against the order of things; elated by the intoxicating consciousness of his individual significance and importance. Even the thought of persecution left him undismayed, was rather tonic than depressing. He felt strong enough to meet and overcome affliction, strong enough to face even Iceland [what he's just been threatened with by his superior].
He was not worthy, not... Their eyes for a moment met. What treasures hers promised! A queen's ransom of temperament. Hastily he looked away, disengaged his imprisoned arm. He was obscurely terrified lest she should cease to be something he could feel himself unworthy of.
"Well, I'd rather be unhappy than have the sort of false, lying happiness you were having here."
"That'll teach him" [the director] said to himself. But he was mistaken. For Bernard left the room with a swagger, exulting, as he banged the door behind him, in the thought that he stood alone, embattled against the order of things; elated by the intoxicating consciousness of his individual significance and importance. Even the thought of persecution left him undismayed, was rather tonic than depressing. He felt strong enough to meet and overcome affliction, strong enough to face even Iceland [what he's just been threatened with by his superior].
He was not worthy, not... Their eyes for a moment met. What treasures hers promised! A queen's ransom of temperament. Hastily he looked away, disengaged his imprisoned arm. He was obscurely terrified lest she should cease to be something he could feel himself unworthy of.
"Well, I'd rather be unhappy than have the sort of false, lying happiness you were having here."
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