Victor McLindon

Man is the only creature that consumes without producing. He does not give milk, he does not lay eggs, he is too weak to pull the plough, he cannot run fast enough to catch rabbits. Yet he is lord of all the animals. He sets them to work, he gives back to them the bare minimum that will prevent them from starving, and the rest he keeps for himself.

Man serves the interests of no creature except himself.

"Bravery is not enough," said Squealer. "Loyalty and
obedience are more important. And as to the Battle of the
Cowshed, I believe the time will come when we shall find that
Snowball's part in it was much exaggerated. Discipline, comrades,
iron discipline! That is the watchword for today. One false step,
and our enemies would be upon us. Surely, comrades, you do not
want Jones back?"

Squealer made excellent speeches on the
joy of service and the dignity of labour, but the other animals
found more inspiration in Boxer's strength and his never-failing
cry of "I will work harder! "

tried to determine whether in the early days of the
Rebellion, when Jones's expulsion was still recent, things had
been better or worse than now. They could not remember. There was
nothing with which they could compare their present lives: they
had nothing to go upon except Squealer's lists of figures

ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL

BUT SOME ANIMALS ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS

The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man
to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible
to say which was which.

Man is the only creature that consumes without producing. He does not give milk, he does not lay eggs, he is too weak to pull the plough, he cannot run fast enough to catch rabbits. Yet he is lord of all the animals. He sets them to work, he gives back to them the bare minimum that will prevent them from starving, and the rest he keeps for himself.

our lives are miserable, laborious, and short. We are born, we are given just so much food as will keep the breath in our bodies, and those of us who are capable of it are forced to work to the last atom of our strength; and the very instant that our usefulness has come to an end we are slaughtered with hideous cruelty.

Our labour tills the soil, our dung fertilises it, and yet there is not one of us that owns more than his bare skin. You cows that I see before me, how many thousands of gallons of milk have you given during this last year? And what has happened to that milk which should have been breeding up sturdy calves? Every drop of it has gone down the throats of our enemies. And you hens, how many eggs have you laid in this last year, and how many of those eggs ever hatched into chickens? The rest have all gone to market to bring in money for Jones and his men. And you, Clover, where are those four foals you bore, who should have been the support and pleasure of your old age? Each was sold at a year old — you will never see one of them again. In return for your four confinements and all your labour in the fields, what have you ever had except your bare rations and a stall?