Quotes About Irony

It only seems like it would be funny to enter a bank wearing a ski mask.

I am an unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort.

And then earlier than that there were the crusades. The crusades were totally fucked. Richard the Lionheart, who had the heart of a lion as well as his own. He ripped it out of the lion, and the lion was left with a bicycle pump and not much to do.

The word itself—dyslexia—is ironically very hard for dyslexic people to spell correctly

Satire is enjoyable compensation for being forced to think.

There's nothing grimmer than the tragedy that wears a comic mask.

Apart from the pleasure of looking at her and listening to her--of enjoying in her what others less discriminatingly but as liberally appreciated--he had the sense, between himself and her, of a kind of free-masonry of precocious tolerance and irony. They had both, in early youth, taken the measure of the world they happened to live in: they knew just what it was worth to them and for what reasons, and the community of these reasons lent to their intimacy its last exquisite touch.

Perhaps, if I hadn't been, once before—I mean, if I'd always been a prudent deliberate Ralston, it would have been kinder to Tina in the end." Dr. Lanskell sank his gouty bulk into the chair behind his desk, and beamed at her through ironic spectacles. "I hate in-the-end kindnesses: they're about as nourishing as the third day of cold mutton.

Everything about him accorded with the fastidious element in her taste, even to the light irony with which he surveyed what seemed to her most sacred. She admired him most of all, perhaps, for being able to convey as distinct a sense of superiority as the richest man she had ever met.

She stared, perhaps suspecting irony, as she always did beneath the unintelligible.

every now and then I do think life is a crock, there's no getting around it. Basically, it's really just awful. I do think it's stupidity that makes the world go round. And if you're doing nonsense it has to be rather awful, because there'd be no point.

Thanks for putting that in terms I can easily grasp,' said Malcolm, without showing the patronizing bitch the slightest sign of irony.

And nothing gave him more faith in the existence of an afterlife than the inexorable sarcasm of fate .

humility was the ultimate arrogance

When we first listen to depression, we find that the misery is consuming. It doesn't point anywhere or say anything. It just is. But when we keep listening, it tells stories of loss, rejection, or other events that happened to the person. It speaks of identifiable physiological problems. It points to a culture of irony: the culture with the most peace, money, and leisure is also the one with the most malignant sadness.

That's not funny or cute!

He should be happy because he can think about the unhappiness of others! He's stupid if he doesn't know other people's unhappiness is theirs, And isn't cured from the outside, Because suffering isn't like running out of ink, Or a trunk not having iron bands! There being injustice is like there being death.

El, în definitiv, nu reuÈ™ea decât s? stârneasc? ilaritate: È™i nu È™tia s? fac? asta decât luând în batjocur? anumite lucruri. Iar aceste lucruri, din întâmplare, erau tocmai acelea pe care nu reuÈ™ise s? le aib? în via??.

The handling of poisonous snakes in church is a test of faith and grace, just as catching them in one's yard is a test of prowess and courage. The deathly presence of the snake parallels the daily danger in the mines, and the culture takes a sort of ironic pride in its ability to handle it. … The snake is both something radically other and a household presence.

Ha! I like the world, kid. I like its sense of humour. I like the way it gets its own back on the know-it-alls and the stuck-ups and the well-meaners.

Let Sporus tremble—"What? that thing of silk,Sporus, that mere white curd of ass's milk?Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel?Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?"

Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreetTo run amuck, and tilt at all I meet.

And he himself one vile antithesis.

Celia" Celia, we know, is sixty-five, Yet Celia's face is seventeen; Thus winter in her breast must live, While summer in her face is seen. How cruel Celia's fate, who hence Our heart's devotion cannot try; Too pretty for our reverence, Too ancient for our gallantry!