Best 841 quotes in «irony quotes» category

And for God's sake, if you need to shoot make sure to release the safety ,” he murmured, as we moved across the front, careful to stick to the shadows as often as we could. So far, I hadn't seen anyone, not even zombies. It wasn't uncommon for a straggler to come along, every now and then. Lucky for us, we were remote enough that we hadn't had any major issues with any hordes locating us. The men were quick to dispatch any zombies that hung around, not willing to take the risk that somehow they could communicate with each other. Not to mention, the zombies were strong and fast. It was better to end them, rather than to risk them one day killing one of us.

And how is your head? Better?" he asked. "Very much. Sometimes it hurts." Right now it was throbbing. "But every day I am much improved." "Where did you hit it? Are you bruised?" I put a hand to the back of my head, a little to the left, where I had landed with such jarring force. "Here," I said. "It's still a little tender." And leaning forward, he touched my hair right where I had just laid my hand. Such was he glamour that attended him that I expected the ache to instantly melt away, healed by his royal caress. But in fact, I felt a sudden leap in my heart that made the pain briefly more intense.

And involuntarily I compared the childish sarcasm, the religious sarcasm of Voltaire with the irresistible irony of the German philosopher whose influence is henceforth ineffaceable.

And it never even occurs to them their certainty that they are different is what makes them the same.

... And I wondered if we had disappointed God so much, that he wrote us off as pets, just alive to entertain.

And now none of it could be undone. That was the exquisite irony: the act that had undone everything could not itself be undone.

and their days make no story for they were good and joyful and without event

And the list of traitors?" said Dylan, eying the scroll with an unsavory gleam in his eyes. What did he plan on doing, hunting down each and every one of them? Somehow that didn't feel to far from the truth.

And that's my problem. I love to be alone and hate being around people, but I love to be with people and hate being alone. I don't know what I like and I don't know what I want. Time is a difficult thing. It moves too slowly and speeds up when you finally wish it would slow down or stop. You get to the aftermath and all you have are your memories. Precious memories. The kind that make you smile and laugh like you're living it again, while a nostalgic tear falls. And then another. And then another, until you want to just forget it all to stop the painfully happy memories because at the end of the day, those - not the sad ones - are the memories that hurt us most.

And where our hearts should be are but the palms of monkeys.

And yet Praecursoris is not punished the same way, only because it is not practical, and he is needed for breeding?

An unhappy ending makes it literature rather than romantic fiction.

Anyway, if the Cetagandans really wanted to assassinate you, they'd hardly do it here. They'd slip something subtle under your skin that wouldn't go off for six months, and then would drop you mysteriously and untraceably in your tracks

Anyway, I'm in bed with her, with her bracelets. Her face is a blank, so I darken the lights. Off go her silky undergarments. The bracelets are all she has on. They glint slightly, a pleasant muffled clinking on the sheets. I have a hard-on. Which, halfway down the ladder, is what I noticed. Just great. Why now? Why didn't I get an erection when I needed one? And why was I getting so excited over two lousy bracelets? Especially under this slicker, with the world about to end.

A painting is worth a thousand confused art-gallery visitors.

A politician is a man who checks his views in the internet and his value in the bank.

Aramis liked the t-shirt he was given because it had the image of the Grim Reaper on it. He liked the irony, since the Grim Reaper took lives, while he was a saver of lives.

As a youth I enjoyed — indeed, like most of my contemporaries, revered — the agitprop plays of Brecht, and his indictments of Capitalism. It later occurred to me that his plays were copyrighted, and that he, like I, was living through the operations of that same free market. His protestations were not borne out by his actions, neither could they be. Why, then, did he profess Communism? Because it sold. The public’s endorsement of his plays kept him alive; as Marx was kept alive by the fortune Engels’s family had made selling furniture; as universities, established and funded by the Free Enterprise system — which is to say by the accrual of wealth — house, support, and coddle generations of the young in their dissertations on the evils of America.

Are you so busy fighting you cannot see your own ship has set sail?

As learnèd commentators view In Homer more than Homer knew.

As soon as you say it about a record, you're like some little zombie in a funny dungeon.

As she stepped into the steamboat at Dover which was to convey her to scenes so new, Lucilla felt more and more that she who held the reorganisation of society in Carlingford in her hands was a woman with a mission.

As soon as whatever provisional well of confidence dries up, I will feel like a frightened motherless child. And I will—what? Lessee, I'll beg friends to assure me I'm fascinating, that my soul is complex so I can once more conduce to irony. An abyss opens up.

As soon as they leave, Leon says to me: "I disagree, sir. There are people who aren't insane, and I'm one of them. People who generalize are mentally ill.

As usual I was working the graveyard shift—an irony I reveled in—at an emergency call center. What other shift would a vampire feel comfortable working?

A sudden, uncontrollable fury rose in him, and he cast around for something to smash. He snatched the whiskey bottle from the table and was about to launch it at the wall, but changed his mind at the last moment. Lifelong training in self-control, he thought, opening the bottle and putting it to his mouth.

A third of population tend to corrupt. The rest have no money.

A writer flirts with schizophrenia, nurtures synesthesia, and embraces obsessive-compulsive disorder. Your art feeds on you, your soul, and, yes, to a degree, your sanity. Writing novels worth reading will bugger up your mind, jeopardize your relationships, and distend your life. You have been warned.

A united front announcing a split.

Been there, came back

Beauty is in the eye of the jury.

Behind every successful woman is a hungry man.

Blasphemy has always seemed to require taking things very seriously. I know no better stance to adopt from within the secular-religious, evangelical traditions of United States politics, including the politics of socialist feminism. Blasphemy protects one from the moral majority within, while still insisting on the need for community. Blasphemy is not apostasy. Irony is about contradictions that do not resolve into larger wholes, even dialectically, about the tension of holding incompatible things together because both or all are necessary and true. Irony is about humour and serious play.

Being a woman is worse than being a farmer there is so much harvesting and crop spraying to be done: legs to be waxed, underarms shaved, eyebrows plucked, feet pumiced, skin exfoliated and moisturised, spots cleansed, roots dyed, eyelashes tinted, nails filed, cellulite massaged, stomach muscles exercised. The whole performance is so highly tuned you only need to neglect it for a few days for the whole thing to go to seed. Sometimes I wonder what I would be like if left to revert to nature — with a full beard and handlebar moustache on each shin Dennis Healey eyebrows face a graveyard of dead skin cells spots erupting long curly fingernails like Struwelpeter blind as bat and stupid runt of species as no contact lenses flabby body flobbering around. Ugh ugh. Is it any wonder girls have no confidence?

Big people never scare me. I am a little man. I can easily hide.

Blind eyes see the color of life through the black screen Blinded eyes see the black in life through a colored screen

Boy, these conservatives are really something, aren't they? They're all in favor of the unborn. They will do anything for the unborn. But once you're born, you're on your own. Pro-life conservatives are obsessed with the fetus from conception to nine months. After that, they don't want to know about you. They don't want to hear from you. No nothing. No neonatal care, no day care, no head start, no school lunch, no food stamps, no welfare, no nothing. If you're preborn, you're fine; if you're preschool, you're fucked.

But I made an issue of the precise wording of the vows. I wanted liberalized ones, with no outmoded Pauline nonsense exacting from the bride the promise to 'obey' the groom. Here I put my foot down, rather in the manner of a husband determined to show at the outset who was boss. 'I'll have no obedience around here!' I said, banging the table. 'Is that clear?' 'Is it an order?' 'Yes.

But one does have to give words some credit. One has to at least pretend that they more or less resemble their meaning. Their shady meaning.

But it was a matter of great consolation to her, that what brought evil to herself would bring good to her sister; and Elinor, on the other hand, suspecting that it would not be in her power to avoid Edward entirely, comforted herself by thinking, that though their longer stay would therefore militate against her own happiness, it would be better for Marianne than an immediate return into Devonshire.

But stronger and brighter than any other was his mate bond with Lana. She was in every beat of his heart, the very fire in his blood. How could anyone have ever doubted his feelings for her?

But the people only talked about how ugly her face looked. No one even bothered to mention what a sweet, kindhearted girl she was. Now, don’t be amazed! That is just the nature of humans, to notice the one flaw among a person’s ten good qualities.

But there was no going back to that idyllic time when only one god wanted to kill me.

But though it had prevailed against such fierce adversaries as fire and flood, it had fallen victim softly and swiftly to television in the 1960's.

Can’t say what impresses me most about my followers – their good looks, their incredible intellects, or their immunity to cheap flattery.

But what use is the unicorn to you if your intellect doesn't believe in it?

But who is ever fair in an argument?

Când îţi scrii cea mai frumoasă pagină în cartea vieţii tale, soarta, cu vecinica ei ironie, varsă cerneala peste foile ce urmează.

Capitalizing a capital on our heads through the sweat of our brow. It's debt for nature exchange, read in between the nature of words and see what I'm trynna explain.

Cela ne se remarque pas, mais il est hors de lui. Il y a des gens chez qui ça ne se voit pas.