“The passive ironic attitude is not cool or romantic, but pathetic and destructive.”
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"Pasif ironik tutum havalı ya da romantik değil, acıklı ve yıkıcı."
“You used to come out here and feed your fairies,” he said. “You believed in something you couldn’t see, something you couldn’t grasp. I did too, once. Boulevard du Temple, Paris. 1755. There was a young man with a violin and fire in his heart. I believed, with such certainty, he would be mine. And I was young. So much imagination.” He shook his head. “Humans grow old so quickly. Your lives are the blink of an eye when you see all eternity stretched out before you. Yet I kept bringing honey to something I couldn’t hold, I couldn’t possess. He died.” He nodded, as if to remind himself that it was true. “His fire was gone. So easily. And then my name was called by strangers, to Cairo. By the time I’d freed myself, and went back to France…” He fluttered his hand. “I never found his grave. I searched. I haunted the cemeteries so long they began to tell stories of me. Zane found me there.” He shook his head. “He dragged me back to Hell. Told me I was mad. Mad for a human whose soul I could never possess.”
“Leon…” I didn’t know what to say. It had been centuries, but his voice was still rough with pain. So many years, and a single human death haunted him.
Ironic that a killer would be tortured by a death.
“I’ve spent enough time haunting graveyards,” he said. “If you gave me your soul, neither gods nor men could take you from me. And that frightens you.”
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It is both sad and ironic to read today some marginal jottings Marx made in 1874, while reading Bakunin’s Statism and Anarchy. Marx copied out passages from this work by his anarchist rival from the days of the first International, and then made his own comments on each passage.
Sayfa 99
"How ironic is it that you feel you are too old to live yet too young to die"
İronic:)
“…geleceğe umutla bakıyor, Tanrı’nın insana mutlu olmak için çok şey verdiğine ya da en azından mutsuz olmayacak kadarını verdiğine inanıyordu.”
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The media are no longer interested in me since Craig delivered the profile of the Scarlet Slayer. Yes, the media named me. Somehow, Jake got me the name he wanted.
It’s ironic the media lost interest in the hero side of me in favor of the dark side of me. Just goes to show how twisted and ugly this world can be.
Indeed, it was the capacity, the need, for love that ultimately drove me from Menzoberranzan. Is there in all the wide world a concept more fleeting, more elusive? Many people of all the races seem simply not to understand love, burden its beauteous simplicity with preconceived notions and unrealistic expectations. How ironic that I, walking from the darkness of loveless Menzoberranzan, can better grasp the concept than many of those who have lived with it, or at least with the very real possibility of it, for all of their lives.
How ironic the two of us were sitting here: me, the girl who remembered almost nothing, and Alex, the man who remembered everything.
Thus, though we can easily categorise The Handmaid’s Tale in literary-critical terms, what merits attention is the way it deconstructs and reconstructs myth. Strictly speaking, Atwood’s novel belongs to the category of ‘dystopia’ or ‘anti-utopia’. But as Northrop Frye observes, this phase of satire carries its own mythic directive: it ‘presents human life in terms of largely unrelieved bondage. Its settings feature prisons, madhouses, lynching mobs, and places of execution.’ That is, with this form of narrative, which Frye takes to
be an extreme form of the ironic mode, we are granted a full-scale ‘demonic’ vision, the complement of the ‘apocalyptic’. This ironic myth, of which Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty Four is representative, depicts ‘the nightmare of social tyranny, often featuring ‘the use of parody-religious symbols suggesting some form of Satan or Antichrist worship’ (Frye
1971:238).
Under the steady influence of the Americans, both during and after the Occupation, the yakuza began to assume some of the characteristics of their American gangster counterparts. The
kobun took to dressing in dark suits, dark shirts, and white ties. Sunglasses were de rigueur, and in the 1960s, yakuza affected crewcuts and kept them for a longer time perhaps than anyone else in the world. To match their outfit, they affected a leer and a swagger that set them apart from the ordinary citizens. Yakuza leaders also acquired a taste for an imported luxury that might seem ironic today - foreign (principally American) cars. Even today, yakuza leaders are among the few customers for large American sedans in Japan.
Isn’t it ironic that the perfect moment for
them to admit that they need you in their
life is when you finally realize that you’re
well off without them. In other words, the devil knows when you are getting close
to heaven.
Women get the men they deserve. For all the crowing and publicity of feminine triumphalism, there’s still a wonderment at why men are increasingly less and less motivated to play along in their feminine reality. As tough as it is for men to disabuse themselves of their romanticism, it’s even more so for women to accept their own natures in the shadow of the experiment that was 20th century feminization. They’re reaping the whirlwind that the Matriarchy of the sexual revolution has sown. It’s all the more ironic to read the same mothers who created this generation of men lament how their daughters are unmarried and childless at 35.
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