…I would like to beg you dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with
everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions
themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very
foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be
given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the
point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then,
someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it,
live your way into the answer.

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

In our time, political speech and writing are largely the defense of the indefensible... The inflated style itself is a kind of euphemism. A mass of Latin words falls upon the facts like soft snow, blurring the outline and covering up all the details. The great enemy of clear language is insincerity. When there is a gap between one's real and one's declared aims, one turns as it were instinctively to long words and exhausted idioms, like a cuttlefish spurting out ink. In our age there is no such thing as "keeping out of politics." All issues are political issues, and politics itself is a mass of lies, evasions, folly, hatred, and schizophrenia.

-George Orwell, Politics and the English Language