On.

On the intensely personal journey that lies in words and thoughts and the mind. On war, peace, powerlessness and desperate humour. On appearances and mental jouneys in overwhelming darkness. On intent versus action. On wishful omens. And creating realities, escaping realities and being lost among these. On pictures dancing inside the mind, whirling like leaves and banshees and dervishes and whirling and whirling and whirling. About all this.

Quoting Emma Larkin, George Orwell, and many more more Burma, in the pages of Finding George Orwell in Burma.

Truth is true only within a certain period of time. What was truth once may no longer be truth after many months or years.

One of the attributes which qualified him to be a writer was his ability to face unpleasant facts.

He drags his wasted body through the compulsory early-morning exercise routine, wearing on his face the look of grim enjoyment which was considered proper during the physical jerks.

Where does the past exist? If it cannot be read in actual sites or in official records, is it preserved only in people’s minds? The past always comes back to haunt us.

Glimpses of banana trees on the bank, flailing in the wind like hysterical banshees.

Have you heard the one about the dentist? There was once a Burmese man who travelled many hard miles in order to visit a dentist in a neighbouring country. When he arrived at the dentist’s office, the dentist was surprised to learn how far the man had travelled. Are there no dentists in your country? he asked the man with concern. Yes, yes, we have dentists, the man replied. The problem is we are not allowed to open our mouths.

They will never, never allow us to have freedom of expression. They know that if we published the truth – if people could know the truth, they would be forced out within a month.

Even under the most crushing state machinery courage rises up again and again, for fear is not the natural state of civilized man.

The question is how large must a minority be before it deserves autonomy.

The object of war is not to make or prevent conquests of territory, but to keep the structure of society intact. War is Peace.

I was hated by large numbers of people – the only time in my life that I have been important enough for this to happen to me.

Nothing ever did happen – a least not on the scale that my friend had predicted. But, if there were never any nationwide fireworks, I got the sense that they took place all the time on a personal level. And these individual fireworks, I got the sense that they took place all the time on a personal level. And these individual fireworks, these small internal implosions, no one could predict or control.

Every joke is a tiny revolution.

God is no fool.

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The chain reaction: Nineteen Eighty-Four; Burmese Days; Killing an Elephant; A Smokey Room Story by George Orwell. The Captive Mind by Czeslaw Milosz. Peacock Dreams by William Tydd. Mandalay by Kipling.