“The Savage was silent for a little. 'All the same,' he insisted obstinately, 'Othello's good, Othello's better than those feelies.'

'Of course it is,' the World Controller agreed. 'But that's the price we have to pay for stability. You've got to choose between happiness and high art. We have the feelies and the scent organ instead.'

'But they don't mean anything.'

'They mean themselves, they mean a lot of agreeable sensations to the audience.'

'But they're . . . they're told by an idiot.'

The Controller laughed. 'You're not being very polite to your friend, Mr Watson. One of our most distinguished Emotional Engineers . . .'

'But he''s right,' said Helmholtz gloomily. 'Because it is idiotic. Writing when there's nothing to say . . .'

'Precisely. But that requires the most enormous ingenuity. You're making flivvers out of the most minimum of steel - works of art out of practically nothing but pure sensation.'

The Savage shook his head. 'It all seems to me quite horrible.'

'Of course it does. Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the over-compensation for misery. And, of course, stability isn't nearly so spectacular as instability.”