But how can you have a sense of wonder if you’re prepared for everything?

'1984' is not a wonder tale. Not only could it happen, but it has happened, but under different names.

The stars are out tonight. All of them.

Dreams, memories, the sacred--they are all alike in that they are beyond our grasp. Once we are even marginally separated from what we can touch, the object is sanctified; it acquires the beauty of the unattainable, the quality of the miraculous. Everything, really, has this quality of sacredness, but we can desecrate it at a touch. How strange man is! His touch defiles and yet he contains the source of miracles.

We are an impossibility in an impossible universe.

If i thought this would never happen again I would die.
But this is wrong, nobody dies from lack of sex. It's lack of love we die from.