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Her feelings were her own, and could not be altered from outside. it would not have occurred to her that an action which is ineffectual thereby becomes meaningless. if you loved someone, you loved him, and when you had nothing else to give, you still gave him love.

-George Orwell

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Her Feelings Were Her Own, And Could

George Orwell

Her feelings were her own, and could not be altered from outside. it would not have occurred to her that an action which is ineffectual thereby becomes meaningless. if you loved someone, you loved him, and when you had nothing else to give, you still gave him love.

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    <p style="font-size: 1.2rem; font-style: italic; margin-bottom: 10px;">"her feelings were her own, and could not be altered from outside. it would not have occurred to her that an action which is ineffectual thereby becomes meaningless. if you loved someone, you loved him, and when you had nothing else to give, you still gave him love."</p>
    <footer style="font-size: 1rem; font-weight: bold;">— George Orwell</footer>
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Love Romantic Giving

More From George Orwell

You could run from someone you feared, you could try to fight someone you hated. all my reactions were geared toward those kinds of killers – the monsters, the enemies. when you loved the one who was killing you, it left you no options. how could you run, how could you fight, when doing so would hurt that beloved one? if your life was all you had to give your beloved, how could you not give it? if it was someone you truly loved?

Love is real, real is love, love is feeling, feeling love, love is wanting to be loved. love is touch, touch is love, love is reaching, reaching love, love is asking to be loved. love is you, you and me, love is knowing, we can be. love is free, free is love, love is living, living love, love is needing to be loved.

At 13 years old, i realized i could start my own band. i could write my own song, i could record my own record. i could start my own label. i could release my own record. i could book my own shows. i could write and publish my own fanzine. i could silk-screen my own t-shirt. i could do this all myself.

I asked for strength, and god gave me difficulties to make me strong. i asked for wisdom, and god gave me problems to learn to solve. i asked for prosperity, and god gave me a brain and brawn to work. i asked for courage, and god gave me dangers to overcome. i asked for love, and god gave me people to help. i asked for favors, and god gave me opportunities. i received nothing i wanted. i received everything i needed.

My feelings are not god. god is god. my feelings do not define truth. god’s word defines truth. my feelings are echoes and responses to what my mind perceives. and sometimes - many times - my feelings are out of sync with the truth. when that happens - and it happens every day in some measure - i try not to bend the truth to justify my imperfect feelings, but rather, i plead with god: purify my perceptions of your truth and transform my feelings so that they are in sync with the truth.

If he looked into her face, he would see those haunted, loving eyes. the hauntedness would irritate him - the love would move him to fury. how dare she love him? hadn't she any sense at all? what was he supposed to do about that? return it? how? what could his calloused hands produce to make her smile? what of his knowledge of the world and of life could be useful to her? what could his heavy arms and befuddled brain accomplish that would earn him his own respect, that would in turn allow him to accept her love?

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