George Orwell
1984

Stay calm. It's nothing. It's nothing, I swear.
Out there, in the world - out there, I mean - there's a war. A war that, with your enthusiastic support, we will win. A war in which we are already triumphant. As it has always been, alongside Eurasia. A war? No. War is peace.
But you, but you, clench those teeth during the Hate Hour. Bare them, those teeth. Goldstein must know how united we are.

Comrade, don't you see it's night? What do you mean, there's the sun? Every light has been turned off. Curfew. Sleep, comrade. Long live Big Brother!

Welcome the new day. Say goodbye to the old one.

[Error - Referring to non-word]

Say goodbye to the snuovo day. What are you saying, comrade? What nonsense are you rambling? A contrary of 'new' has never existed. Do we need one? You've already been suspected of thoughtcrime in the past, comrade. Be careful. Long live Big Brother!

Freedom is slavery.

Say goodbye to the snuovo day. It's day, rise and shine. Be industrious and efficient. Be industrious, and that's it: we don't need two words for the same concept. It's day, comrade. What do you mean, there's the moon?

Ignorance is strength.

Comrade! You don't want to miss today's grand military parade? You won't want to. We celebrate our victory over Eurasia today, alongside Eastasia. As it has always been. How can you remember it being the opposite? You must have a clouded mind, comrade. Long live Big Brother!

It's me, me, me! Winston Smith, man. I wake up today from a horrible dream. A horrible dream. An aberrant dream. And, I say to anyone who might read, in a near, distant, or impossible future - it wasn't a beautiful dream. It was a horrible and oppressive dream. And I'm not out of it yet. Here I begin. I. Me. I, Winston Smith, man.
And as long as I can, I write it and rewrite it. Two plus two equals - two plus two equals - two plus two equals [THOUGHTCRIME] five.

 
(Take note.
Big Brother. A mistranslated term that then entered common use. Because it's also here the imperfect beauty of uncomfortable nuances. Big brother in English is rather big brother.
Big Brother. Try to fade from this webpage. Try to reach that cathodic hyperreality just out there, encrusted with simonaventure and brunovespe, with plastic breasts and occasional charity for earthquake victims, with papal slanders and dead banners, with fascist beatings, live beatings, parliament beatings, stadium beatings, with French perfumes and the stench of boats and mafia. With an impalpable and spoiled backdrop of the left. And more fake breasts to complete the work. Well, there you are. It was easier than you thought, entering it: you have it in your blood like a disease. Certainly. And now?
And now, tell me what Big Brother makes you think of.
The mustache from the book in question, or a charming show with vertiginous cultural content loved by young people who know their worth, who yearn day and night for a crumb of participation in it? Wishing to be spied on consciously?
What do you think of first? Yet you know where it comes from, what it represents, and what it means. It's all part of the concept. Doublethink. Take note; then forget about it. War is a peacekeeping mission. The mafia is a fabrication of alarmist press. What are you saying down there? The Twin Towers? It was a paper airplane... Yes, sure. Go to a theater. Go on television, with a counterpoint. Write a book. Make a documentary. Record a committed album, what do I know. Speak. Say everything, shout, spit it all on us. We let you do it, they say. Everyone applauds, moved, and curses. And then? Lights in the theater, the time for noble feelings is over, and this show has been offered to you by... Smiling with an idiotic grin, everyone returns in procession to the altar of Big Brother, happy to embrace doublethink.)

Once, there were the High, the Middle, and the Low. The High, from the top of some bloody theocracy's pedestal, raised a finger, and entire crowds found death. They raised a finger, and a pyramid was built to death and glory. They raised a finger, and the Low collapsed, exhausted. They raised a finger, and suddenly the trick no longer worked. The Middle took the Low by the hand and led them with the force of numbers to overthrow the High. Then, the Middle themselves took the place of the High. And the eternal return.
Today, the Party no longer needs pyramids. Today, Big Brother has entrenched himself on his throne without even really existing. Today Power has won; because it has hidden from view; because it has concealed and killed the truth; because it has understood how to shape minds; because it no longer wears crowns, but the starched jacket of executives; because the Enemy no longer even exists, it remains entangled in its name, Goldstein; because war no longer even needs credible pretexts; because wars are a continuous game of pawns; because the invisible leaders can die like all men, but Power will survive. Every form of resistance is annihilated by propaganda and by the deletion from the collective vocabulary of every word that is not crystal clear in its unequivocal meaning - every word with more than one meaning, every word that can bring ambiguity, doubt, the desire for rebellion, the need for a truth less absurd and schizophrenic. To every demographic sector, the right and proportional fiction of freedom is given, like grains of rice. No one has the strength to stop the tireless machinery of Power anymore. Even if they did, they would lack the words.

War is peace.

Freedom is slavery.

Ignorance is strength.

2+2=5.