Best 167 quotes in «journalist quotes» category

There are journalists I share a whole history with, so I tend to be generous to these guys, but those days are over.

There's a lot of people who feel there's a tabloid journalist who had it coming.

There's many heroic underappreciated investigative journalists.

The right to be a journalist is part of the Bill of Rights.

The training of a journalist, of working with words for thousands of hours, is extraordinarily useful for a fiction writer.

The smarter the journalists are, the better off society is.

There aren't enough good journalists. There are too many who really weren't groomed to be reporters and, as a result, some of the reporting is shallow.

Twitter is not just for Journalists. You don’t have to be a writer to Tweet.[Social Media]

To be a good sports journalist takes many things, but the main thing it takes is the ability to listen and follow your nose - see something, sense something and follow it.

Too few journalists become screenwriters. I say to all the would-be screenwriters: Become journalists. And I’ll say to working journalists: Do not stay journalists. Become screenwriters.

We journalists are never so idiotic as when we analyze things that we shouldn't be analyzing.

We journalists... are also extremely impressed with scientists, and we will, frankly, print just about any wacky thing they tell us, especially if it involves outer space.

We were there [ in the newsroom] through the elections [2008] so it was quite a frenzy going on. The other thing I learn is that journalists are very messy.

When you are a journalist in the music business, as I was, you end up dying or going to the gym - I chose the gym.

Working as a journalist is exactly like being a wallflower at an orgy.

Why in the hell do journalists insist on coming up with a second rate Freudian evaluation on my lyrics when 90% of the time they've transcribed the lyrics incorrectly?

You have to develop a conscience and if on top of that you have talent so much the better. But if you have talent without conscience, you are just one of many thousand journalists.

You know journalists. You know the media. They are going to hang on to anything negative they possibly can.

Writing well means never having to say, 'I guess you had to be there.'

You journalists bulldoze life's mysteries, ignorant of what you're so ruthlessly turning up.

All the best! You are a local legend in a Brisbane and Australia...you probably don't realise just how much...you will get released from that hell hole...you will come home...and discover your 'celebrity status'...which you will probably find nearly as hard to cope with...a different version of hell...anonymity to global fame...what a remarkable journey your life is. Keep safe...head down...this will pass.

Fear didn't suit me.

A writer reports on the universe. When he presents his credentials, the gates of heaven and hell are equally opened to him. He can hear the devil’s defense and god’s accusations. The guards at the king’s heart let him in. The writer can be anything and any one he wants. When he writes he is a god, he creates.

Dean's eyes were studying me. "You have a way with words. What kind of writing do you want to do?" "Articles for Dad's paper, to start." "What do you want to write about?" I paused, suddenly uncertain about how much to share. Dean's eyes were reassuring. "When I know more, I'd like to write about deeper things.

Exposing corruption, brandishing truth.

If feels good to live after death. It feels good to not be dead. It feels so good to find myself alive and flying home. The music plays in my ears and I float further and further away from war. Fucking Baghdad.

Follow your fate, and be satisfied with it, and be glad not to be a second-hand motor salesman, or a yellow-press journalist, pickled in gin and nicotine, or a cripple - or dead.

I had an interview once with some German journalist—some horrible, ugly woman. It was in the early days after the communists—maybe a week after—and she wore a yellow sweater that was kind of see-through. She had huge tits and a huge black bra, and she said to me, ‘It’s impolite; remove your glasses.’ I said, ‘Do I ask you to remove your bra?

I have often found it difficult to explain myself to myself, and I do not often try.

I imagined it was far better to be optimistic, to proceed assuming wherever you could that you had cared enough, that you'd made a difference, that you would again. Dwelling on the worst was no way to live.

Ik wil alleen een hand om mij aan vast te houden. Geen waarheid, maar een goed verhaal, wat woorden om het duister door te komen. (Schwarzenbach revisited)

I don't care if they are reading our mail. Bring it on, Tron! I dare you. Try to take away my freedom of expression. I'm a journalist. A free-speech warrior. I serve in the Army of the First Amendment. I didn't take this job for the bad money, and the regressive health care coverage. I'm here for the truth, the sunshine, the casting open of closed doors!

In my defense, I was left unsupervised.

Not only do we venture into personal relationships with our eyes wide shut but when we go to the voting booths, even the journalists in us have no real idea what we are voting for. The information is all out there but we choose to follow the propaganda we are fed.

It's one thing to put on your nation's uniform to give your life for your country. But to dress up in black-market khakis and head into battle in a borrowed bush hat, armed only with a Nikon camera, 10 rolls of film and notebook, is definitely another thing.

Journalism! it's a rude art

My brave and bold journalists, rise and work with integrity, for now more than ever, the world faces an imminent information-catastrophe, and you are our first line of defense. So, be the shield against disinformation and go down to the deepest and darkest pit to rescue the human society, from the strangling tendrils of mal-content. There is a lot to be done my friend, so don't be silent - make journalism the vanguard of information.

No one is too busy to pick up the phone, to make a one-minute phone call. No matter how busy they say they are.

Oh, I’m Chrissy Mackenzie, I’m from Vancouver but I came here to study environmental journalism,” the girl exclaimed with way too much enthusiasm. “You got any advice?” “Search me,” Mandy muttered, spooning another ice cube from the empty glass on the table in front of her. “I like pollution, I write in favor of it, and environmental journalism most often implies that it’s in favor of all that “go green” hippie crap.” “Oh, well….” Chrissy seemed taken aback, offended, and Mandy sighed a fourth time. “Damn it, I’m really sorry,” she apologized, smiling dismally at the aspiring writer. “It’s just been a really lousy day for me and I wasn’t really thinking. My advice? Find your own cause to represent, not one thrown out into society by a ton of environmentalist dopes. Find something new, something you think could be improved, and work from there.” Chrissy smiled with a look of total ecstasy as if the words of some nobody woman were important. Mandy momentarily noticed the groups of laughing, drunk, giggling people, all acting childish… and for a moment she wished she could be them.

Of all games in the world, the one most universally and eternally popular is the game of school. You collect six children and put them on a doorstep, while you walk up and down with the book and cane. Only one thing mars it: the tendency of one and all of other six children to clamour for their turn with the book and cane. The reason, I am sure, that journalism is so popular a calling, in spite of its many drawbacks, is this: each journalist feels he is the boy walking up and down with the cane. The Government, the Classes, and the Masses, Society, Art, and Literature, are the other children sitting on the doorstep. [published in 1900]

She still loved the profession and enjoyed the lives and piece to cameras, but she knew it was all a tad too farcical at times. There were far too many stories they reported and forgot. Far too many conflicts that were once headlines and had captured the imaginations of many now awaited resolution, stale and unwanted as yesterday’s tea. It was hard to keep up your spirit when you started realizing it was just a job after all and that a headline did not change someone’s destiny. Except maybe the reporter’s if she or he was picked up by a rival channel for better pay. So getting into the profession wanting to make a difference and working for the greater good as the journalists of yore had done was certainly not an option anymore.

Now more than ever, journalists have a crucial role to perform in the society. You may say, haven't they been playing that role from the very beginning! Yes, they have been doing it for a long time, since the birth of printing press, but never in history, could their failure mean devastation in their community caused by their false and illegitimate counterparts.

Producing a great interview requires you to acknowledge the fact that, or to pretend as if, the person you are interviewing is more knowledgeable or interesting than you.

Quit your bitching, if you're not pitching

Since most of the traditional news publishing industry is hugely dependent on corporate sponsorship (except for a few publishers funded by people), even their news can be manipulated for the benefit of the sponsors or political lobbies. So, in the end, it all comes down to journalistic integrity - it comes down to the ethical grounds of the real conscientious journalists.

There is much to be said in favor of modern journalism. By giving us the opinions of the uneducated, it keeps us in touch of the ignorance of the community. By carefully chronicling the current events of contemporary life, it shows us of what very little importance such events really are. By invariably discussing the unnecessary, it makes us understand what things are requisite for culture, and what are not.

The thrill of working in this building, with its iconic globe on top, would never fade.

They were going to the house of a man who was shot dead. What was with all the exuberance? But maybe that was the only way you could move forward after mindlessly recording stories of brutality and violence for days on end? Maybe detachment was the only way. But if you could not be passionate about your job, what was the point in doing it?

The reason why she had chosen journalism was because of those who had done so before her. Stalwart women and men who reported stories in the days before the Internet. Before it was fashionable to learn Mass Communication. A long time before being a TV reporter and calling up your family to see your face beamed to their homes was an in thing. They were those who had left their families behind as they pursued the truth, opting to go to jail when the government hounded them to reveal their sources. Men and women that would rather quit than write editorials the management wanted them to write. Journalists who never wrote a word they would have to disown. Journalists who took their last breath as they wrote an article was true to what they believed in. They would never sit down and take stock of the stories they had covered and written saying, “So what if twenty of these are non-stories, I at least had five I believed in.

VW used to mean FAHRVERGNUGEN and now it's FARFROMUNION! Birgit Von Schondorf