1984

by George Orwell

Nothing was your own except the few cubic centimetres inside your skull.

He was a lonely ghost uttering a truth that nobody would ever hear. But so long as he uttered it, in some obscure way the continuity was not broken.

It was not by making yourself heard but by staying sane that you carried on the human heritage.

And yet, just for a moment, what almost frightening power had sounded in that cry from only a few hundred throats! Why was it that they could never shout like that about anything that mattered?

Until they become conscious they will never rebel, and until after they have rebelled they cannot become conscious.

By lack of understanding they remained sane.