[Edward M. Kennedy[_2_]]

thought-
criminals and saboteurs, he might be fulminating against the atrocities of
the Eurasian army, he might be praising Big Brother or the heroes on the
Malabar front -- it made no difference. Whatever it was, you could be
certain that every word of it was pure orthodoxy, pure Ingsoc. As he
watched the eyeless face with the jaw moving rapidly up and down, Winston
had a curious feeling that this was not a real human being but some kind of
dummy. It was not the man's brain that was speaking, it was his larynx. The
stuff that was coming out of him consisted of words, but it was not speech
in the true sense: it was a noise uttered in unconsciousness, like the
quacking of a duck.
Syme had fallen silent for a moment, and with the handle of his spoon
was tracing patterns in the puddle of stew. The voice from the other table
quacked rapidly on, easily audible in spite of the surrounding din.
'There is a word in Newspeak,' said Syme, 'I don't know whether you
know it: duckspeak, to quack like a duck. It is one of those interesting
words that have two contradictory meanings. Applied to an opponent, it is
abuse, applied to someone you agree with, it is praise.'
Unquestionably Syme will be vaporized, Winston thought again. He
thought it with a kind of sadness, although well knowing that Syme despised
him and slightly disliked him, and was fully capable of denouncing him as a
thought-criminal if he saw any reason for doing so. There was something
subtly wrong with Syme. There was something that he lacked: discretion,
aloofness, a sort of saving stupidity. You could not say that he was
unorthodox. He