Page 14Nothing like oxygen- shortage for keeping an embryo below par.” Again he rubbed his hands. “The lower the caste,” said Mr. Foster, “the shorter the oxygen.” The first organ affected was the brain. After that the skeleton. At seventy per cent of normal oxygen you got dwarfs. At less than seventy eyeless monsters. “Who are no use at all,” concluded Mr. Foster.
Page 16Hot tunnels alternated with cool tunnels. Coolness was wedded to discomfort in the form of hard X-rays. By the time they were decanted the embryos had a horror of cold. They were predestined to emigrate to the tropics, to be miner and acetate silk spinners and steel workers. Later on their minds would be made to endorse the judgment of their bodies. “We condition them to thrive on heat,” concluded Mr. Foster. “Our colleagues upstairs will teach them to love it.” “And that,” put in the Director sententiously, “that is the secret of happiness and virtue-liking what you’ve got to do. All conditioning aims at that: making people like their unescapable social destiny.”
Page 21Books and loud noises, fiowers and electric shocks-already in the infant mind these couples were compromisingly linked; and after two hundred repetitions of the same or a similar lesson would be wedded indissolubly. What man has joined, nature is powerless to put asunder.
Page 25“These early experimenters,” the D.H.C. was saying, “were on the wrong track. They thought that hypnopædia could be made an instrument of intellectual education .” “Whereas, if they’d only started on moral education,” said the Director, leading the way towards the door. “Moral education, which ought never, in any circumstances, to be rational.”
Page 35He waved his hand; and it was as though, with an invisible feather wisk, he had brushed away a little dust, and the dust was Harappa, was Ur of the Chaldees; some spider-webs, and they were Thebes and Babylon and Cnossos and Mycenae. Whisk. Whisk-and where was Odysseus, where was Job, where were Jupiter and Gotama and Jesus? Whisk-and those specks of antique dirt called Athens and Rome, Jerusalem and the Middle Kingdom-all were gone. Whiskthe place where Italy had been was empty. Whisk, the cathedrals; whisk, whisk, King Lear and the Thoughts of Pascal. Whisk, Passion; whisk, Requiem; whisk, Symphony; whisk.
Page 45“Consider your own lives,” said Mustapha Mond. “Has any of you ever encountered an insurmountable obstacle?” The question was answered by a negative silence. “Has any of you been compelled to live through a long time-interval between the consciousness of a desire and its fuﬁlment?”
Page 49“Government’s an affair of sitting, not hitting. You rule with the brains and the buttocks, never with the ﬁsts. For example, there was the conscription of consumption.”
Page 52“The introduction of Our Ford’s ﬁrst T-Model .”“All crosses had their tops cut and became T’s. There was also a thing called God.”
Page 69A physical shortcoming could produce a kind of mental excess. The process, it seemed,wasreversible. Mentalexcesscouldproduce,foritsownpurposes,the voluntary blindness and deafness of deliberate solitude,the artiﬁcial impotence of asceticism.
Page 70And how can one be violent about the sort of things one’s expected to write about? Words canbe likeX-rays,if you use them properly-they’ll go through anything. You read and you’re pierced. Besides, can you make words really piercing-you know, like the very hardest X-rays- when you’re writing about thatsortofthing? Can you say something about nothing? That’s what it ﬁnally boils down to. I try and I try .”
Page 77And when, exhausted, the Sixteen had laid by their saxophones and the Synthetic Music apparatus was producing the very latest in slow Malthusian Blues, they might have been twin embryos gently rocking together on the waves of a bottled ocean of blood-surrogate.
Page 93“Awfully.” But there was an expression of pain in Bernard’s eyes. “Like meat,” he was thinking.“Perfect,” he said aloud. And inwardly. “She thinks of herself that way. She doesn’t mind being meat.”
Page 153Moreover, she wasn’t a real savage, had been hatched out of a bottle and conditioned like any one else: so couldn’t have really quaint ideas. Finally-and this was byf ar the stronges treason for people’s not wanting to see poor Linda-there was her appearance. Fat; having lost her youth; with bad teeth, and a blotched complexion,and that ﬁgure(Ford!)-you simply couldn’t look at her without feeling sick, yes, positively sick. So the best people were quite determined not to see Linda. And Linda, for her part, had no desire to see them. The return to civilization was for her there turn to soma, was the possibility of lying in bed and taking holiday after holiday,without ever having to come back to a headache or a ﬁt of vomiting,without ever being made to feel as you always felt after peyotl, as though you’d done something so shamefully anti- social that you could never hold up your head again. Soma played none of these unpleasant tricks. The holiday it gave was perfect and, if the morning after was disagreeable, it was so, not intrinsically, but only by comparison with the joys of the holiday. The remedy was to make the holiday continuous. Greedily she clamoured for ever larger, ever more frequent doses. Dr. Shaw at ﬁrst demurred; then let her have what she wanted. She took as much as twenty grammes a day.
Page 154“Soma may make you lose a few years in time,” the doctor went on. “But think of the enornous, immeasurable durations it can give you out of time. Every soma-holiday is a bit of what our ancestors used to call eternity.”
Page 157The days passed. Success went ﬁzzily to Bernard’s head, and in the process completely reconciled him (as any good intoxicant should do) to a world which, up till then, he had found very unsatisfactory. In so far as it recognized him as important, the order of things was good. But, reconciled by his success, he yet refused to forego the privilege of criticizing this order. For the act of criticizing heightened his sense of importance, made him feel larger. Moreover, he did genuinely believe that there were things to criticize. (At the same time, he genuinely liked being a success and having all the girls he wanted.). And because they were polite, Bernard felt positively gigantic-gigantic and at the same time light with elation, lighter than air.
Page 179“Well, I’d rather be unhappy than have the sort of false, lying happiness you were having here.”As a victim, the Savage possessed, for Bernard, this enormous superiority over the others: that he was accessible. Oneoftheprincipalfunctionsofafriendistosuffer(inamilderand symbolic form) the punishments that we should like, but are unable, to inﬂict upon our enemies.
Page 191“Outliving beauty’s outward with a mind that cloth renew swifter than blood decays.”
Page 221“Of course it does. Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the over-compensations 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.”
Page 232“’A man grows old; he feels in himself that radical sense of weakness, of listlessness, of discomfort,which accompanies the advance of age; and, feeling thus,imagines himself merely sick,lulling his fears with the notion that this distressing condition is due to some particular cause,from which,as from an illness,he hopes to recover. Vain imaginings! That sickness is old age; and a horrible disease it is. They say that it is the fear of death and of what comes after death that makes men turn to religion as they advance in years. But my own experience has givenmetheconvictionthat,quiteapartfromanysuchterrorsorimaginings,the religious sentiment tends to develop as we grow older; to develop because, as the passions grow calm, as the fancy and sensibilities are less excited and less excitable,our reason becomes less troubled in its working, less obscured by the images, desires and distractions, in which it used to be absorbed; whereupon God emerges as from behind a cloud; our soul feels, sees, turns towards the source of all light; turns naturally and inevitably; for now that all that gave to the world of sensations its life and charms has begun to leak away from us,now that phenomenal existence is no more bolstered up by impressions from within or from without, we feel the need to lean on something that abides, something that will never play us false-a reality, an absolute and everlasting truth. Yes,we inevitably turn to God; for this religious sentiment is of its nature so pure, so delightful to the soul that experiences it, that it makes up to us for all our other losses.”’ Mustapha Mond shut the book and leaned back in his chair. “One of the numerous things in heaven and earth that these philosophers didn’t dream about was this” (he waved his hand), “us, the modern world. ’You can only be independent of God while you’ve got youth and prosperity; independence won’t take you safely to the end.’ Well, we’ve now got youth and prosperity right up to the end. What follows? Evidently, that we can be independent of God. ’The religious sentiment will compensate us for all our losses.’ But there aren’t any losses for us to compensate; religious sentiment is superﬂuous. And why should we go hunting for a substitute for youthful desires, when youthful desires never fail? A substitute for distractions,when we go on enjoying all the old fooleries to the very last? What need have we of repose when our minds and bodies continue to delight in activity? of consolation,when we have soma? of something immovable, when there is the social order?"
Page 238Anybody can be virtuous now. You can carry at least half your mortality about in a bottle. Christianity without tears-that’s what soma is.”
Page 240“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, “you’re claiming the right to be unhappy.”“All right then,” said the Savage deﬁantly, “I’m claiming the nght 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 to- morrow; 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.Mustapha Mond shruggedhis shoulders. “You’re welcome,” he said.
Page 241“Did you eat something that didn’t agree with you?” asked Bernard.The Savage nodded. “I ate civilization.”“What?”“It poisoned me; I was deﬁled. And then,” he added, in a lower tone, “I ate my own wickedness.”
Brave New World Slogan:- History is bunk.- Everyone belongs to everyone else.- A gramme in time saves nine.- Once cubic centimetre cures ten gloomy sentiments.- A gramme is always better than a damn.- When the individual feels, the community reels.-Cleanliness is next to fordliness.- Civilization is sterilization.- The more stiches, the less tiches.- A doctor a ay keeps the jim-hams away.- Pain is delusion