Wasn’t it immoral to do work you didn’t enjoy?

You can go home again, the General Temporal Theory asserts, so long as you understand that home is a place where you have never been.

His gentleness was uncompromising; because he would not compete for dominance he was indomitable.

You can’t crush ideas by suppressing them. You can only crush them by ignoring them.

No matter how intelligent a man is he can’t see what he doesn’t know how to see. How can you understand your situation, here, in a capitalist economy, a plutocratic-oligarchic State? How can you see it, coming from your little commune of starving idealists up there in the sky?”

“You know, I don’t agree,” he said to long-faced Vokep, an agricultural chemist travelling to Abbenay. “I think men mostly have to learn to be anarchists. Women don’t have to learn.” Vokep shook his head grimly. “It’s the kids,” he said. “Having babies. Makes ’em propertarians. They won’t let go.” He sighed. “Touch and go, brother, that’s the rule.

Life on Anarres had sealed him, closed off his soul; the waters of life welled all around him, and yet he could not drink.

He was not working. He was being worked.

All the people in all the shops were either buyers or sellers. They had no relation to the things but that of possession.