Quotes About Cynicism

Ah ! Dostum ! Ä°nan?n bana, bu dünya asl?nda tamamen insanlarla taÅŸak geçmek için yarat?lm?? koskocaman bir kand?rmacad?r.

I don't despise myself at all. I think I'm very honest, very brave, very sacrificing, I gave a lot to a lot of people. And all they gave me back is rotten tricks. That's all I see.

if you've lived this long, it's because you've squashed any poetry you had in you.

La tyrannie sans risque, sans peine... Ce sont les ratés les plus rances qui décrètent le goût du jour !... Qui ne sait rien foutre, loupe toutes ses entreprises possède encore un merveilleux recours : Critique !... Trouvaille inouïe des temps modernes, plus aucun compte jamais à rendre. Critique ne relève que de son propre culot, de ses sales petites gardiens des plus fienteux égouts... Tout en ombres, baves, toxines, immondices, curées...

Ero un bambino allora, mi faceva paura la prigione. È che non conoscevo ancora gli uomini. Non crederò più a quello che dicono, a quello che pensano. È degli uomini e di loro soltanto che bisogna aver paura, sempre.

Now was the time to make quick tracks. Back to Fort-Gono, retrace my steps? Try to explain my conduct and the circumstances of the present disaster? I hesitated . . . Not for long. Nothing can be explained. The world only knows how to do one thing, to roll over and kill you, as a sleeper kills his fleas. That would be a stupid way to die, I said to myself, to let myself be crushed like everybody else. To put your trust in men is to get yourself killed a little.

Truth is inedible. Nowadays

He was, and she had to swallow very hard to keep from choking, the most terribly beautiful man she had ever seen. He had a long, wicked scar that traveled from his temple down his cheek to the side of his chin and below his jaw. Somehow, though, it just didn't detract from his handsomeness, dark though that was. His face was all planes and angles, harsh even in the deepening gloom. His hair was dark and his eyes were full of cynicism.

Today I think of myself as a 'recovering pessimist.' I know that optimism is not at odds with wisdom. It's quite the opposite. I think of cynicism as cool but lazy, while hope is desperately uncool—it has sweaty palms and an earnest smile on its face. What I know to be true is that one hopeful person will accomplish more than a hundred cynics. Why? Because the hopeful person will try.

God is an oppressor, He is incapable of human sympathy; behind a smiling face He hides an evil heart.

He thoroughly abhorred those bohemians who aped the ways of Paris and Hollywood, and he had nothing but disgust for all those cynical, uprooted intellectuals who knew only how to pour scorn and sarcasm on everything, together with their scribbles about modern art, which amounted to no more than the emperor's new clothes.

There are people like that, people who don't beat themselves up, don't take every little injustice personally. Those people, same callous fuckers that walk past a legless guy without a pause, those are the ones who win.

I resented the easy supposition of all's well that ends well.

For jaded people, the only pleasure left is to demolish others.

They possess and enjoy early, and it does something to them, makes them soft where we are hard, and cynical where we are trustful, in a way that, unless you were born rich, it is very difficult to understand.

bis sneering

Now only a genius can save humanity—not a prophet, no!—a genius who will formulate a new moral ideal. But where is he, this Messiah ? There is nothing left for us but to learn to die with dignity. Cynicism has never saved anyone yet; it's the lot of the faint-hearted.

But it is a rule of life, alas, that nobody is kidding.

People said things they didn't mean all the time. Everybody else in the world seemed able to factor it in. But not Lena. Why did she believe the things people said? Why did she cling to them so literally? Why did she think she knew people when she clearly didn't? Why did she imagine that the world didn't change, when it did? Maybe she didn't change. She believed what people said and she stayed the same. (Lena, 211)

our triumphant age of plenty is riddled with darker feelings of doubt, cynicism, distrust, boredom and a strange kind of emptiness

Talking about medicine, I told him with bitterness about my growing cynicism about what I could do, and he said, "No, we don't cure. I never bought that either. I went through the same cynicism—all that training, and then this helplessness. And yet, in spite of all our doubt, we can give something. Not cure, no. What sustains us is when we find a way to be compassionate, to love. And the most loving thing we do is to be with a patient, like you are being with me.

People are always willing to believe the worst about someone.

The longer I do this job, the less I like people. The species, of course," he adds grimly. "There are individuals I like just fine.

He'd always had that fearless optimism that made cynics like me squirm. I wondered if it was enough for both of us. I would never know from here, though. And time was passing. Crucial minutes and seconds, each one capable of changing everything.