eaders that a man, to remain human, must exercise his freedom, in this context – to rebel, no matter how hopeless such a rebellion might be: "they'll shoot me I dont care." Winston began writing his diary "in sheer panic, only imperfectly aware of what he was setting down" and just before he was interrupted while writing the first entry he scribbled down: "theyll shoot me I dont care theyll shoot me in the back of the neck I dont care down with big brother."
             What is remarkable about Winston is his inner life; in spite of his frailty, vulnerability, fear, weakness, he tries to counteract the uniformity and conformity of the world he lives in. "The thing that he was about to do was to open a diary. This was not illegal (nothing was illegal since there were no longer any laws), but if detected it was reasonably certain that it would be punished by death, or at least by twenty-five years in a forced-labor camp. Winston fitted a nib into the penholder and sucked it to get the grease off. The pen was an archaic instrument, seldom used even for signatures, and he had procured one, furtively and with some difficulty, simply because of a feeling that the beautiful creamy paper deserved to be written on with a real nib instead of being scratched with an ink-pencil. He was not used to writing by hand. Apart from very short notes, it was usual to dictate everything into the speak-write, which was, of course, impossible for his present purpose. He dipped the pen into the ink and faltered for just a second. A tremor had gone through his bowels. To mark the paper was the decisive act" (Part).
             This passage reveals crucial points about Winston and the profound significance of his act. In O
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