Coming up for Air Quotes

“أليس غريباً أن نمضى حياتنا ونحن نفكر بالأشياء التى نحب
أن نفعلها ولا نستطيع”
― جورج أورويل, Coming up for Air

“Perhaps a man really dies when his brain stops, when he loses the power to take in a new idea.”
― George Orwell, Coming up for Air

“ولا تظلمني, فأنا لا أحاول أن أضع نفسي فوق ورود ناعمة,فوراء الوجه الباسم
قلب موجوع”
― جورج أورويل, Coming up for Air

“The past is a curious thing. It’s with you all the time. I suppose an hour never passes without your thinking of things that happened ten or twenty years ago, and yet most of the time it’s got no reality, it’s just a set of facts that you’ve learned, like a lot of stuff in a history book. Then some chance sight or sound or smell, especially smell, sets you going, and the past doesn’t merely come back to you, you’re actually IN the past. It was like that at this moment.”
― George Orwell, Coming up for Air

“There’s time for everything except the things worth doing.”
― George Orwell, Coming Up for Air

“ربما يموت الانسان عندما يتوقف دماغه , وأقصد عندما يتوقف دماغة عن استيعا ب أفكار جديدة”
― جورج أورويل, Coming up for Air

“لا حظت ان عقول البشر تعمل بطريقة اهتزازية متقطعه
فلا توجد عاطفة تدوم فترة طويلة من الزمن”
― جورج أورويل, Coming up for Air

“It struck me that perhaps a lot of the people you see walking about are dead. We say that a man's dead when his heart stops and not before. It seems a bit arbitrary. After all, parts of your body don't stop working -hair goes on growing for years, for instance. Perhaps a man really dies when his brain stops, when he loses the power to take in a new idea. Old Porteous is like that. Wonderfully learned, wonderfully good taste - but he's not capable of change. Just says the same things and thinks the same thoughts over and over again. There are a lot of people like that. Dead minds, stopped inside. Just keep moving backwards and forwards on the same little track, getting fainter all the time, like ghosts.”
― George Orwell, Coming up for Air

“لاحظت أن عقول البشر تعمل بطريقة اهتزازية متقطعة فلا توجد عاطفة تدوم فترة طويلة من الزمن”
― George Orwell, Coming up for Air

“The idea really came to me the day I got my new false teeth.”
― George Orwell, Coming up for Air

“عندما تعيش مع امرأة يكون من الصعب تخيل الحياة بدونها
إذ تصبح جزء من نظام الأشياء , وأجرؤ القول إنك يمكن أن تعترض
على الشمس أو القمر لكن هل تريد فعلاً تغيرهما”
― جورج أورويل, Coming up for Air

“Life's here to be lived, and if we're going to be in the soup next week - well, next week is a long way off.”
― George Orwell, Coming up for Air

“And it's a wonderful thing to be a boy, to go roaming where grown-ups can't catch you, and to chase rats and kill birds and shy stones and cheek carters and shout dirty words. It's a kind of a strong, rank feeling, a feeling of knowing everything and fearing nothing, and it's all bound up with breaking rules and killing things.”
― George Orwell, Coming up for Air

“I suppose there hasn’t been a single month since the war, in any trade you care to name, in which there weren’t more men than jobs. It’s brought a peculiar, ghastly feeling into life. It’s like on a sinking ship when there are nineteen survivors and fourteen lifebelts. But is there anything particularly modern in that, you say? Has it anything to do with the war? Well, it feels as if it had. The feeling that you’ve got to be everlastingly fighting and hustling, that you’ll never get anything unless you grab it from somebody else, that there’s always somebody after your job, that next month or the month after they’ll be reducing staff and it’s you that’ll get the bird – that, I swear, didn’t exist in the old life before the war.”
― George Orwell, Coming up for Air

“And yet all the while there’s that peculiar intensity, the power of longing for things as you can’t long when you’re grown up, and the feeling that time stretches out and out in front of you and that whatever you’re doing you could go on for ever.”
― George Orwell, Coming Up for Air

“أشياء تحس في أبديتها كأنها مثل أهرامات مصر
أما الآن فهى مجرد أشياء عابرة”
― جورج أورويل, Coming up for Air

“لماذا يتوافر الوقت لعمل أي شيء ماعدا الجديرة والهامة منها؟ فكر بشيء تهتم به وأحسب الدقائق التي خصصتها له وقارن ذلك بالساعات التي أهدرتها في أعمال مثل الحلاقة وركوب الحافلات والانتظار في محطات القطار وتبادل القصص الخليعة وقراءة الجرائد”
― George Orwell, Coming up for Air

“لماذا تزوجتها ؟
سألت نفسي هذا السؤال مرات لا يعلم إلا الله عددها ولا أزال بعد خمس عشرة سنة من الزواج
تزوجتها لأنها شابة وجميلة , والأكثر من ذلك لأنها جائت من أصول مختلفة كلياً عن أصولى . كان من الصعب على أن أفهمها لذا تزوجتها كى أفهمها”
― جورج أورويل, Coming up for Air

“They were a bit shaken, and sometimes a little dispirited. But at least they never lived to know that everything they’d believed in was just so much junk. They lived at the end of an epoch, when everything was dissolving into a sort of ghastly flux, and they didn’t know it. They thought it was eternity. You couldn’t blame them. That was what it felt like.”
― George Orwell, Coming up for Air

“يا إلهى لقد كنت مخطئاً بالظن أنني أرى أشباحاً
وإنما أنا الشبح , نعم أنا الميت وهم الأحياء”
― جورج أورويل, Coming up for Air

“That's the way we're going nowadays. Everything slick and streamlined, everything made out of something else.”
― George Orwell, Coming Up for Air

“The past is a curious thing. It's with you all the time,”
― George Orwell, Coming Up for Air

“Summer days, and the flat water meadows and the blue hills in the distance, and the willows up the backwater and the pools underneath like a kind of deep green glass. Summer evenings, the fish breaking the water, the nightjars hawking round your head, the smell of nightstocks and latakia. Don’t mistake what I’m talking about. It’s not that I’m trying to put across any of that poetry of childhood stuff. I know that’s all baloney. Old Porteous (a friend of mine, a retired schoolmaster, I’ll tell you about him later) is great on the poetry of childhood. Sometimes he reads me stuff about it out of books. Wordsworth. Lucy Gray. There was a time when meadow, grove, and all that. Needless to say he’s got no kids of his own. The truth is that kids aren’t in any way poetic, they’re merely savage little animals, except that no animal is a quarter as selfish.

A boy isn’t interested in meadows, groves, and so forth. He never looks at a landscape, doesn’tgive a damn for flowers, and unless they affect him in some way, such as being good to eat, he doesn’t know one plant from another. Killing things - that’s about as near to poetry as a boy gets. And yet all the while there’s that peculiar intensity, the power of longing for things as you can’t long when you’re grown up, and the feeling that time stretches out and out in front of you and that whatever you’re doing you could go on for ever.”
― George Orwell, Coming up for Air

“I can see the war that’s coming and I can see the after-war, the food-queues and the secret police and the loudspeakers telling you what to think.”
― George Orwell, Coming Up for Air

“It’s queer what an inch or two of fat can do.”
― George Orwell, Coming Up for Air

“كانت قراءة الروايات فى تلك السنة هي التعليم الحقيقي الذي حصلته
لقد فعلت الكتب فعلها الكبير في عقلي وصار لي موقف ورأي استفهامي
لم أكن أحصل عليه لو تابعت حياتي بالطريقة العادية الحسية
واسأل إن كنت قد أدركت الشئ الذي غيرني حقيقة وأثر عليا فعلياً
لم تكن الكتب التي قرأتها
بقدر ما كانت الحياة التافهة المتعفنة التي كنت أحياها
لقد كانت بلا معني”
― جورج أورويل, Coming up for Air

“عندما ننظر إلى الماضي البعيد نرى الكائنات البشرية مثبتة في أوضاع و أماكن محددة وبصفات شخصية ثابتة”
― George Orwell, Coming up for Air

“Fishing is the opposite of war.”
― George Orwell, Coming up for Air

“The people chased the Conservative candidate half a mile and threw him into a pond full of duckweed. People took politics seriously in those days. They used to begin storing up rotten eggs weeks before an election.”
― George Orwell, Coming Up for Air

“They don’t want to have a good time, they merely want to slump into middle age as quickly as possible. After the frightful battle of getting her man to the altar, the woman kind of relaxes, and all her youth, looks, energy, and joy of life just vanish overnight. It was like that with Hilda. Here was this pretty, delicate girl, who’d seemed to me—and in fact when I first knew her she was—a finer type of animal than myself, and within only about three years she’d settled down into a depressed, lifeless, middle-aged frump”
― George Orwell, Coming up for Air