Brooke Miller: Brave New World, chptr 3

“Try to realize what it was like to have a viviparous mother.”

(The embryo is hungry; day in, day out, the blood-surrogate pump unceasingly turns its eight hundred revolutions a
minute.

Wonderfully
pneumatic.

The students nodded, emphatically agreeing with a statement which upwards
of sixty-two thousand repetitions in the dark had made them accept, not merely
as true, but as axiomatic, self-evident, utterly indisputable.

“Barring a little surreptitious auto-erotism and homosexuality-absolutely
nothing.”

“I always think,” the Director was continuing in the same rather maudlin tone,
when he was interrupted by a loud boo-hooing.

The world was full of fathers-was
therefore full of misery; full of mothers-therefore of every kind of perversion
from sadism to chastity; full of brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts-full of madness
and suicide.

A Synthetic Music machine was
warbling out a super-cornet solo.

Our Ford-or Our Freud, as, for some inscrutable reason, he chose to call himself
whenever he spoke of psychological matters-Our Freud had been the first to
reveal the appalling dangers of family life.

The smile on
Bernard Marx’s face was contemptuous.