"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail,
"There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.
See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!
They are waiting on the shingle -- will you come and join the dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?

"You can really have no notion how delightful it will be
When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!"
But the snail replied "Too far, too far!" and gave a look askance --
Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance.
Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance.
Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance.

"What matters it how far we go?" his scaly friend replied.
"There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.
The further off from England the nearer is to France --
Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you joint the dance?

Okay, I admit... I suck donkey balls at literature. In my defense, I plead that I'm a victim of forced-literacy programs in my largely illiterate state.

It rhymes and it has a subliminal message.

It's a dialectal double whammy!

I don't need nervous depressants... they dull the senses. But I would so enjoy certain stimulants... if they weren't so fucking expensive, and ONLY available from real life versions of Tony Montanna.... (grrr)

In the state of Alabama, apparently quantity is more important than quality when it comes to reading kiddy-fiction (I.e Ghost Writer, meaningless drivel that I couldn't be bothered to read even while I was in 4th grade.)

If you want a vision of the future Winston, imagine a boot stomping down on a Human Face, forever.

WAR IS PEACE, FREEDOM IS SLAVERY, and IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH.

The horrible thing about the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act a part, but that it was impossible to avoid joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretense was always unnecessary.

Whether he went on with the diary, or whether he did not go on with it, made no difference. The Thought Police would get him just the same. He had committed— would still have committed, even if he had never set pen to paper— the essential crime that contained all others in itself. Thoughtcrime, they called it. Thoughtcrime was not a thing that could be concealed forever.

"You asked me once," said O'Brien, "what was in Room 101. I told you that you knew the answer already. Everyone knows it. The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world."

The Party seeks power entirely for its own sake. We are not interested in the good of others; we are interested solely in power. Not wealth or luxury or long life or happiness: only power, pure power. What pure power means you will understand presently. We are different from all the oligarchies of the past, in that we know what we are doing. All the others, even those who resembled ourselves, were cowards and hypocrites.

Once upon a midnight dreary,
While I websurfed, weak and weary,
Over many a strange and spurious website of hot chicks galore,

While I clicked my fav'rite bookmark,
Suddenly there came a warning,
And my heart was filled with mourning,
Mourning for my dear amour.

'Tis not possible, I muttered,
Give me back my cheap hardcore! —
Quoth the server, "404".