Quotes from Aldous Huxley

The point, Susila answered, is to get people to understand that we're not completely at the mercy of our memory and our phantasies. If we're disturbed by what's going on inside our heads, we can do something about it. It's all a question of being shown what to do and then practicing— the way one learns to write or play the flute. What those children you saw here were being taught is a very simple technique—a technique that we'll develop later on into a method of liberation.

When captured and brought to trial, many of those who had taken part in the Sabbath resolutely refused, even under torture, even at the stake, to abjure the religion which had brought them so much happiness.

The old self seemed unprecedentedly heavier than the surrounding atmosphere.

Jefferson dijo: Si una nación espera ser ignorante y libre, espera algo que nunca fue ni nunca será...

that is the secret of happiness and virtue - liking what you've got to do. All our conditioning aims at that: making people like their unavoidable place in Society.

Ve sólo Uno en todas las cosas; es el segundo el que te descarría

Swallowing half an hour before closing time, that second dose of soma had raised a quite impenetrable wall between the actual universe and their minds. Bottled, they crossed the street; bottled, they took the lift up to Henry's room on the twenty-eight floor.

EÄŸer farkl?ysan, yaln?zl??a mahkûm oluyorsun.

Experientia docet ? Experientia doesn't.

But I like the inconveniences. We don't, said the Controller. We prefer to do things comfortably. 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.

The nature of things is such that the unitive knowledge of the Ground which is contingent upon the achievement of a total selflessness cannot possibly be realized, even with outside help, by those who are not yet selfless.

De qué sirven la verdad, la belleza o el conocimiento cuando las bombas de ántrax llueven del cielo?

But silence and the topless dark Vault in the lights of Luna Park; And Blackpool from the nightly gloom Hollows a bright tumultuous tomb. He put it down again, shook his head, and sighed. What genius I had then! he reflected, echoing the aged Swift. It was nearly six months since the book had been published; he was glad to think he would never write anything of the same sort again. Who could have been reading it, he wondered?

O ser diferente condena a uma fatal solidão.

in the crimson darkness, stewing warm on their cushion of peritoneum and gorged with blood-surrogate and hormones, the foetuses grew and grew or, poisoned, languished into a stunted Epsilonhood.

He remembered those weeks of timid indecision, during which he had looked and longed and despaired of ever having the courage to ask her. Dared he face the risk of being humiliated by a contemptuous refusal? But if she were to say yes, what rapture!

In spite of his misery he absolutely refused to take the half gramme raspberry sundae which she pressed upon him, I'd rather be myself he said. Myself and nasty. Not somebody else, however jolly.

Books, he said—books. One reads so many, and one sees so few people and so little of the world. Great thick books about the universe and the mind and ethics. You've no idea how many there are. I must have read twenty or thirty tons of them in the last five years. Twenty tons of ratiocination. Weighted with that, one's pushed out into the world.

By its very nature every embodied spirit is doomed to suffer and enjoy in solitude.

We are given two choices—famine, pestilence and war on the one hand, birth control on the other.

in a world in which everything is available, nothing has any meaning.

And what, we may ask, are these devout and well-behaved Peyotists experiencing? Not the mild sense of virtue which sustains the average Sunday churchgoer through ninety minutes of boredom.

No cabe civilización alguna sin estabilidad social. Y no hay estabilidad social sin estabilidad individual.

Alone among the animals, we suffer from the future perfect tense. Rover the Dog cannot imagine a future world of dogs in which all fleas will have been eliminated and doghood will finally have achieved its full glorious potential