A Kind of Compulsion, The Complete Works of George Orwell, vol. X (1903–1936), artikel 163, s. 305.
Brev till Eleanor Jaques, 26 februari 1933. En gemensam vän har haft besök av en udda filur….
Yes, I met the old vagabond chap, & he was rather interesting. His philosophy seemed to me Buddhist rather than Christian — all about the futility of making any effort & the necessity of attaining peace of mind, in other words Nirvana. But he came flying back from Nirvana pretty rapidly when I said something against Carlyle…
Artikel 165, s. 307. Brev till Brenda Salkeld, mars 1933.
Have you seen any more of your friends who worship Bernard Shaw? Tell them that Shaw is Carlyle & water, that he ought to have been a Quaker (cocoa and commercial dishonesty), that he has squandered what talents he may have had back in the ’80’s in inventing metaphysical reasons for behaving like a scoundrel, that he suffers from an inferiority complex towards Shakespeare, & that he is the critic, cultured critic (not very cultured but it is what B meant) that Samuel Butler prayed to be delivered from. Say that Shaw’s best work was one or two early novels & one or two criticisms he wrote for the Saturday Review when Harris was editor, & that since then it has got steadily worse until its only function is to console fat women who yearn to be highbrows.