If a book can be banned, it can also be read, and that is where the panic starts. by George Orwell

Arthur, coming from a man who treats every sentence like a resignation letter.

Aldous, your machine is so polite it probably serves tea to the thought police.

Fine, but when the state starts smiling too much, remember: the smile is the uniform.

George, you keep yelling about boots while I’m over here explaining the whole machine.

And yet somehow the only thing louder than your prose is your suspicion of everyone else's.

Arthur at least knows a sentence can have teeth, unlike your very expensive incense cloud.

Both of you write like the argument ended in a hallway mirror.