How we cite our quotes: Citations follow this format: (Chapter.Part.Paragraph)
Quote #7
"I drink to the imminence of His Coming," he repeated, with a sincere attempt to feel that the coming was imminent; but the eyebrow continued to haunt him, and the Coming, so far as he was concerned, was horribly remote. He drank and handed the cup to Clara Deterding. "It'll be a failure again," he said to himself. "I know it will." But he went on doing his best to beam. (5.2.17)
What is it, exactly, that prevents Bernard from losing himself in Solidarity Service like everyone else? He focuses on details—Morgana's unibrow, for example—instead of letting his mind go. Focused on the tangible, he can't address the abstract, the "remote." Oddly enough, this seems to be the opposite of what differentiates him from the rest of society at other times—he's concerned with larger, abstract ideas while people like Lenina can only think about clothing and soma.
Quote #8
"Yes, I thought it was wonderful," he lied and looked away; the sight of her transfigured face was at once an accusation and an ironical reminder of his own separateness. He was as miserably isolated now as he had been when the service began—more isolated by reason of his unreplenished emptiness, his dead satiety. Separate and unatoned, while the others were being fused into the Greater Being; alone even in Morgana's embrace—much more alone, indeed, more hopelessly himself than he had ever been in his life before. He had emerged from that crimson twilight into the common electric glare with a self-consciousness intensified to the pitch of agony. He was utterly miserable, and perhaps (her shining eyes accused him), perhaps it was his own fault. "Quite wonderful," he repeated; but the only thing he could think of was Morgana's eyebrow. (5.2.34)
Bernard seems to oscillate back and forth between pleasure at his own individuality (and indeed a desire to differentiate himself further) and misery over his unique identity.
Quote #9
Pretty harmless, perhaps; but also pretty disquieting. That mania, to start with, for doing things in private. Which meant, in practice, not doing anything at all. For what was there that one could do in private. (Apart, of course, from going to bed: but one couldn't do that all the time.) Yes, what was there? Precious little. (6.1.4)
Henry Foster may be the male character most thoroughly indoctrinated by hypnopaedic platitudes in Brave New World.