InTune/steller-v2-tts · Datasets at Hugging Face

transcription stringlengths 3 490	audio audioduration (s) 0.55 27.7
but this is not what we shall be doing when life is worth living again.'
a wave of admiration, almost of worship, flowed out from winston towards o'brien.
for the moment he had forgotten the shadowy figure of goldstein.
when you looked at o'brien's powerful shoulders and his blunt featured face, so ugly and yet so civilized, it was impossible to believe that he could be defeated.
there was no stratagem that he was not equal to, no danger that he could not foresee.
even julia seemed to be impressed.
'i don't know, i'm sure.
she had let her cigarette go out and was listening intently.
o'brien went on,
'you will have heard rumours of the existence of the brotherhood.
no doubt you have formed your own picture of it.
you have imagined, probably, a huge underworld of conspirators, meeting secretly in cellars, scribbling messages on walls, recognizing one another by codewords or by special movements of the hand.
nothing of the kind exists.
the members of the brotherhood have no way of recognizing one another, and it is impossible for any one member to be aware of the identity of more than a few others.
goldstein himself, if he fell into the hands of the thought police, could not give them a complete list of members, or any information that would lead them to a complete list.
no such list exists.
the brotherhood cannot be wiped out because it is not an organization in the ordinary sense.
there was a trampling of boots and another blast on the comb as the children charged into the living room.
nothing holds it together except an idea which is indestructible.
you will never have anything to sustain you, except the idea.
you will get no comradeship and no encouragement.
when finally you are caught, you will get no help.
we never help our members.
at most, when it is absolutely necessary that someone should be silenced, we are occasionally able to smuggle a razor blade into a prisoner's cell.
you will have to get used to living without results and without hope.
you will work for a while, you will be caught, you will confess, and then you will die.
those are the only results that you will ever see.
there is no possibility that any perceptible change will happen within our own lifetime.
mrs parsons brought the spanner.
but at any rate they could plug in your wire whenever they wanted to.
we are the dead.
our only true life is in the future.
we shall take part in it as handfuls of dust and splinters of bone.
but how far away that future may be, there is no knowing.
it might be a thousand years.
at present nothing is possible except to extend the area of sanity little by little.
we cannot act collectively.
we can only spread our knowledge outwards from individual to individual, generation after generation.
in the face of the thought police there is no other way.'
he halted and looked for the third time at his wrist watch.
winston let out the water and disgustedly removed the clot of human hair that had blocked up the pipe.
'it is almost time for you to leave, comrade,' he said to julia.
'wait.
the decanter is still half full.'
he filled the glasses and raised his own glass by the stem.
'what shall it be this time?'
he said, still with the same faint suggestion of irony.
'to the confusion of the thought police?
to the death of big brother?
to humanity?

but this is not what we shall be doing when life is worth living again.'

a wave of admiration, almost of worship, flowed out from winston towards o'brien.

for the moment he had forgotten the shadowy figure of goldstein.

when you looked at o'brien's powerful shoulders and his blunt featured face, so ugly and yet so civilized, it was impossible to believe that he could be defeated.

there was no stratagem that he was not equal to, no danger that he could not foresee.

even julia seemed to be impressed.

'i don't know, i'm sure.

she had let her cigarette go out and was listening intently.

o'brien went on,

'you will have heard rumours of the existence of the brotherhood.

no doubt you have formed your own picture of it.

you have imagined, probably, a huge underworld of conspirators, meeting secretly in cellars, scribbling messages on walls, recognizing one another by codewords or by special movements of the hand.

nothing of the kind exists.

the members of the brotherhood have no way of recognizing one another, and it is impossible for any one member to be aware of the identity of more than a few others.

goldstein himself, if he fell into the hands of the thought police, could not give them a complete list of members, or any information that would lead them to a complete list.