While reading a review of Orwell's Diaries, I came across the following Orwellian dictum:
If you want a vision of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face — forever.
(Didn't Sylvia Plath express a similarly foreboding sentiment, about her present?)
The Diaries, reassures the reviewer, reveals Orwell in a different light--as an approachable flesh and blood man, who loved gardening.
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