“And there is another feeling that is a great consolation in poverty. I believe everyone who has been hard up has experienced it. It is a feeling of relief, almost of pleasure, at knowing yourself at last genuinely down and out. You have talked so often of going to the dogs — and well, here are the dogs, and you have reached them, and you can stand it.”
― George Orwell, Down and Out in Paris and London
I cannot…describe what Mallory has done to an already terrifying book:
“Can you take someone else’s Real,” he asked, “or are you stuck getting it on your own?”
The Skin Horse looked at the Rabbit then.
“What I mean is,” the Rabbit said carefully. “If something else was already Real. Could you take it from them, and keep it for yourself.”
“No,” the Skin Horse said, and his voice was a crawling black thing across the floor. “You can’t take Real from another toy.”
But the Rabbit wasn’t finished. “Can you take the Real out of a boy? Can you take his heart in your own self and leave him with a sawdust heart on the nursery floor in your place?”
And the Skin Horse did not say anything.
“I suppose you are real?” said the Rabbit. And the Skin Horse was afraid for the first time in a long time.