Quotes About Absurdity

"Talking of axes," said the Duchess, "chop off her head!"

"Contrariwise," continued Tweedledee, "if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't. That's logic."

The regular course was Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin with; and then the different branches of Arithmetic — Ambition, Distraction, Uglification, and Derision.

Can you do Division? Divide a loaf by a knife - what's the answer to that?

Mad Hatter: "Why is a raven like a writing-desk?" "Have you guessed the riddle yet?" the Hatter said, turning to Alice again. "No, I give it up," Alice replied: "What's the answer?" "I haven't the slightest idea," said the Hatter

This proposal for genetic control exposes the idea of control itself in its ultimate absurdity: the arrogant notion that finite minds, operating with the limited equipment of their particular culture and historic moment, will ever be qualified to exercise absolute control over the infinite future possibilities of human development.

If you don't drink 56 bottles of water a week, scientists say you should take a garden hose at the end of the week and shove it up your ass.

Cut off from his religious, metaphysical and transcendental roots, man is lost; all his actions become senseless, absurd, useless.

Imagine how asleep or utterly unperceptive and clueless you would have to be not to see yourself as absurd for the most part.

I remember thinking, when I was playing Hedda Gabler, that several sequences of the play were utterly absurd.

Hollywood is the only thing more ridiculous than Silicon Valley. There's nowhere else where it's stranger.

Thinking over this thought, this whole thinking makes no sense.

You nearly killed eight people! I managed to gasp out loud. My count was closer to twelve, returned Havisham as she opened the door. And anyhow, you can't nearly kill someone. Either they are dead or they are not.

They'd never get here in time. It's easy. A lobotomized monkey could do it." "And where are we going to find a lobotomized monkey at this time of night?

Don't anyone move. . . I think we've driven into a mimefield.

Sometimes I wonder if the human race isn't collectively as mad as a sack of door knobs.

Bienvenido a Kazam (...), donde los horrores más inimaginables comparten el día a día con la perplejidad absoluta y el azar más rabioso. Definirlo como manicomio sería un insulto hasta para el más desquiciado de los manicomios.

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

Cultures, taken in themselves, are not moving towards each other. Or, if they are, they are doing so as slowly as tectonic plates. The dream of reconciling them all one day is an absurdity. From the point of view of the universal, which is our point of view, they can only be exterminated - including our own. The space left for any culture by Western un-culture can only be that of le mort (the dead man, but also the 'dummy' at cards).

The 'therapeutic window'. What a delicious term for the interruption of medical treatment! Might you perhaps hurl yourself into the void through this therapeutic window? How about a hermeneutic window from which to hurl yourself beyond meaning. Or an existential window from which to hurl yourself out of existence and the perpetual reasons for existing.

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

Dizer que um homem se dá gratuitamente é uma afirmação absurda e inconcebível; tal ato é ilegítimo e nulo, tão-somente porque aquele que o pratica não está de posse do seu bom-senso. Dizer a mesma coisa de todo um povo é supor uma nação de loucos e a loucura não cria direito.

The absurd man will not commit suicide; he wants to live, without relinquishing any of his certainty, without a future, without hope, without illusions … and without resignation either. He stares at death with passionate attention and this fascination liberates him. He experiences the "divine irresponsibility" of the condemned man.

Men all alone, completely alone with horrible monstrosities, will run through the streets, pass heavily in front of me, their eyes staring, fleeing their ills yet carrying with them, open-mouthed, with their insect-tongue flapping its wings. Then I'll burst out laughing even though my body may be covered with filthy, infected scabs which blossom into flowers of flesh, violets, buttercups.