Quotes About Irony

My husband went through a phase of giving me vacuum cleaners, sewing machines and Mixmasters. It's ironic. He is encouraging me to develop a hobby, I think.

In the vain laughter of folly wisdom hears half its applause.

Running a successful, growing company in Silicon Valley can create an ironic sort of depression and delusion. The better you're doing, the higher the stakes, and higher expectations for you to win. Maybe that's why people say it's so hard. But that doesn't make it hard. That just makes it distracting.

We didn't understand irony yet in the '80s; we just kind of existed at face value, so there was no nerd cool yet because the digital revolution was still in its infancy.

I am obsessed with story. I had a late awakening in life. In college was the first time that I understood what you could do with a story and what a good novel is - literary value and subtext and irony and everything.

What is called music today is all too often only a disguise for the monologue of power. However, and this is the supreme irony of it all, never before have musicians tried so hard to communicate with their audience, and never before has that communication been so deceiving. Music now seems hardly more than a somewhat clumsy excuse for the self-glorification of musicians and the growth of a new industrial sector.

Funeral = real fun.

When she died of lung cancer a few years later, it felt like a malicious cosmic joke. When Grandpa married Margaret the fundamentalist Christian, that was the punch line.

I shouldn't believe anything I say, if I were you-and that includes what I just told you.

I got Oedipus off the incest charge--technicality, of course--he didn't know it was his mother at the time.

Comedy was one of those genres that while appearing quite jolly was actually highly dangerous.

To assist with the dietary requirements of vegetarians, on the first Tuesday of the month a chicken is officially a vegetable.

Recuerdo el primer día que la llevé a mi casa. Mientras yo forcejeaba con la cerradura del portal dijo: —Menuda mierda de ciudad. Le pregunté por qué. —Mira —dijo y, con una mueca de asco infinito, señaló una placa que anunciaba: «Avinguda Lluís Pericot. Prehistoriador»Ã¢â'¬â€. Podían haberle puesto a la calle el nombre de alguien que por lo menos hubiera terminado la carrera, ¿no?

Life is a very bad novelist. It is chaotic and ludicrous.

Everything can be ridiculous or tragic according to who is doing the telling or how they tell it.

Euphemism. A form of irony that makes bad things sound good—or at least not as bad. Personification. Pretending things are human: another role-playing trope. Kindergarten Imperative. Issues a command in terms of a personal need. Yogism. A foolishly wise expression.

The man's got more money than God, and he sends you a bag of coffee?

God scoffs at (smiles at) those he sees denouncing the evils of which they are the cause.

If their own duplicity deserts human beings, then the roles are reversed: it is the machine that goes gaga, that falters and becomes perverse, diabolic, ventriloquous. The duplicity merrily goes over to the other side. If subjective irony disappears - and it disappears in the play of the digital- then irony becomes objective. Or it becomes silence.

The champions of the digital adopt an absurd line of argument (absurd in the sense of Freud's story of the kettle): 1. It is a revolution, an absolute advance. 2. At any rate, we have no choice, the process is irreversible. But it must be one or the other: if it is inevitable, there's no point representing it as an ideal dimension. And if it's destined to win out, there's no point claiming it is best. Any form of irony or offhandedness about one's own ideas is wounding to one's interlocutor.

Philosophy has never been anything but a disavowal of the reality principle. Up until now, it has been the business of philosophers. Today this unreality has entered into things. This then is the end of philosophy and the beginning of something else in which reality merges with its ironic refraction.

There is something stupid about raw events of which Destiny, if it exists, cannot be insensible. There is something stupid about self-evidence and truth from which a superior irony cannot but spare us. Thus everything is expiated one way or another. Forgetting or mourning are no more then the period of time required by reversibility.

Without raising a stink, Or even much of a laugh.

Perhaps there is nothing in the world I cling to as much as this feeling of adventure; but it comes when it pleases; it is gone so quickly and how empty I am once it has left. Does it, ironically, pay me these short visits in order to show me that I have wasted my life?