Her eyes stare at me but she seems not to see me; she looks as though she were lost in her suffering.
There was a sort of calculating ferocity in the boy’s eye, a quite evident desire to hit or kick Winston and a consciousness of being very nearly big enough to do so.
It then becomes clear and certain to him that he does not know a sun and an earth, but only an eye that sees a sun, a hand that feels an earth; that the world around him is there only as representation, in other words, only in reference to another thing, namely that which represents, and this is himself.
To turn his head and look at her would have been inconceivable folly. With hands locked together, invisible among the press of bodies, they stared steadily in front of them, and instead of the eyes of the girl, the eyes of the aged prisoner gazed mournfully at Winston out of nests of hair.
I write to close my eyes.
In a light that is fierce and strong one can see the world dissolve. To weak eyes it becomes solid, to weaker eyes it shows fists; before weaker eyes still it feels ashamed, and smites down whomsoever dares to look at it.
If a man has his eyes bound, you can encourage him as much as you like to stare through the bandage, but he’ll never see anything.
The splinter in your eye is the best magnifying-glass available.