Faux Inspirational Quotes

The systematic looting of language can be recognized by the tendency of its users to forgo its nuanced, complex, mid-wifery properties for menace and subjugation. Oppressive language does more than represent violence; it is violence; does more than represent the limits of knowledge; it limits knowledge. Whether it is obscuring state language or the faux-language of mindless media; whether it is the proud but calcified language of the academy or the commodity driven language of science; whether it is the malign language of law-without-ethics, or language designed for the estrangement of minorities, hiding its racist plunder in its literary cheek - it must be rejected, altered and exposed. It is the language that drinks blood, laps vulnerabilities, tucks its fascist boots under crinolines of respectability and patriotism as it moves relentlessly toward the bottom line and the bottomed-out mind. Sexist language, racist language, theistic language - all are typical of the policing languages of mastery, and cannot, do not permit new knowledge or encourage the mutual exchange of ideas. - Toni Morrison, Nobel Lecture, 1993

Tous les hommes sont menteurs, inconstants, faux, bavards, hypocrites, orgueilleux et lâches, méprisables et sensuels ; toutes les femmes sont perfides, artificieuses, vaniteuses, curieuses et dépravées ; le monde n'est qu'un égout sans fond où les phoques les plus informes rampent et se tordent sur des montagnes de fange ; mais il y a au monde une chose sainte et sublime, c'est l'union de deux de ces êtres si imparfaits et si affreux. On est souvent trompé en amour, souvent blessé et souvent malheureux ; mais on aime, et quand on est sur le bord de sa tombe, on se retourne pour regarder en arrière ; et on se dit : " J'ai souffert souvent, je me suis trompé quelquefois, mais j'ai aimé. C'est moi qui ai vécu, et non pas un être factice créé par mon orgueil et mon ennui.

Les idées… les idées, je vous l’avoue, m’intéressent plus que les hommes ; m’intéressent par-dessus tout. Elles vivent ; elles combattent ; elles agonisent comme les hommes.

Doc, this faux confidence is the only reason I'm still standing.

There is a curious phenomenon in Western intellectual life, namely that of being right at the wrong time. To be right at the wrong time is far, far worse than having been wrong for decades on end. In the estimation of many intellectuals, to be right at the wrong time is the worst possible social faux pas; like telling an off-colour joke at the throning of a bishop. In short, it is in unforgivable bad taste. There was never a good time, for example, to be anti-communist. Those who early warned of the dangers of bolshevism were regarded as lacking in compassion for the suffering of the masses under tsarism, as well as lacking the necessary imagination to “build” a better world. Then came the phase of denial of the crimes of communism, when to base one’s anti-communism on such phenomena as organised famine and the murder of millions was regarded as the malicious acceptance of ideologically-inspired lies and calumnies. When finally the catastrophic failure of communism could no longer be disguised, and all the supposed lies were acknowledged to have been true, to be anti-communist became tasteless in a different way: it was harping on pointlessly about what everyone had always known to be the case. The only good anti-communist was a mute anti-communist.

I'm determined that I won't give up on my dreams for anything. I have evolved in these years. Learned and outgrown a lot many things including the unrealistic expectations of my family,fake relationships,society's criticism,surpassed people who are intimidated by my outspoken nature, Faux friends and especially the people who disappear in dark whenever they think its easier for them to do so. I have grown over stupid and useless conversations. The insecurity and the feeling of self doubt. I have never been less burdened.

La chance nous sourit tous les matins, le bonheur nous accueille tous les soirs, et on s'en rend pas compte. On s'y habitue et on pense que ce sera tous les jours ainsi. On fait pas gaffe à ce que l'on possède puis, hop ! D'un claquement de doigts, on s'aperçoit que l'on a tout faux. Parce qu'on croit avoir décroché la lune, on veut croquer le soleil aussi, et c'est là que l'on se crame les ailes

Croyez ceux qui cherchent la vérité, doutez ceux qui la trouvent, doutez de tout mais ne doutez jamais de vous mêmes.

In the center of Climentoro, a town in Huehuetenango, a dozen large white houses rose above the village’s traditional wooden huts like giant monuments. The structures were made of concrete and fashioned with archways, colonnaded porches, and elaborate moldings; some even boasted facades decorated with paintings of American flags. Their owners, who lived in the US, had sent money home to build American-inspired houses for when they returned, but few did. One three-story house with a faux-brick chimney was empty. The family of twelve had migrated a few years ago, leaving the vacant construction behind. Vecinos fantasmas, Feliciano Pérez, a local farmer, called them—ghost neighbors.

I love others, I apologize when I’ve committed a faux pas or sin. Because I love others, I admit it when I’ve been wrong and ask for forgiveness.

What was the inspiration for all this? Snow White's forest?" "Close, kind of," I replied. "This one's actually FernGully." "You're kidding," he said. "Nope. She wanted her very own enchanted rain forest, and it looks like that's exactly what she got," I said. "She sure did," he replied. "I can't believe we're in Tennessee." The clear-top tent was anchored by fourteen-foot faux weeping willow trees. Candles in glass orbs hung from every branch. The elevated dance floor floated in the center of the space and could be described only as an enormous Lucite shadow box filled with thousands of faux flowers in a rainbow of colors. The bars were covered in green moss and adorned with hundreds of colorful butterflies. The clear ceiling was almost entirely covered in twinkling fairy lights that would look just like a sky full of stars once the sun set. But the real showstopper was the centerpiece on every dining table. Atop every amethyst silk tablecloth was an antique birdcage that housed two real-life lovebirds. The rosy-faced little birds were hopping around and singing, and the space looked, sounded, and felt exactly like an enchanted forest from the movie. I wasn't precisely sure how authentic they were to the rain forest setting, but their chirping certainly added to the wild vibe.

Our annual year-end bash was a tradition as sturdy as our conviction that socks and sandals were a fashion faux pas. From fashion outlaws, we became accepted as fashion forward style icons. -Kim Lee ‘The Big Apple Took a Bite Off Me’ Now on Amazon Books and Kindle

Nous savons aujourd'hui que les peuples qualifiés de "primitifs", ignorant l'agriculture et l'élevage, ou ne pratiquant qu'une agriculture rudimentaire, parfois sans connaissance de la poterie et du tissage, vivant principalement de chasse et de pêche, de cueillette et de ramassage des produits sauvages, ne sont pas tenaillés par la crainte de mourir de faim et l'angoisse de ne pouvoir survivre dans un milieu hostile. Leur petit effectif démographique, leur connaissance prodigieuse des ressources naturelles leur permettent de vivre dans ce que nous hésiterions sans doute à nommer l'abondance. Et pourtant -des études minutieuses l'ont montré en Australie, en Amérique du Sud, en Mélanésie et en Afrique-, de deux à quatre heures de travail quotidien suffisent amplement à leurs membres actifs pour assurer la subsistance de toutes les familles, y compris les enfants et les vieillards qui ne participent pas encore ou ne participent plus à la production alimentaire. Quelle différence avec le temps que nos contemporains passent à l'usine ou au bureau ! Il serait donc faux de croire ces peuples esclaves des impératifs du milieu. Bien au contraire, ils jouissent vis-à-vis du milieu d'une plus grande indépendance que les cultivateurs et les éleveurs. Ils disposent de plus de loisirs qui leur permettent de faire une large place à l'imaginaire, d'interposer entre eux et le monde extérieur, comme des coussins amortisseurs, des croyances, des rêveries, des rites, en un mot toutes ces formes d'activité que nous appellerions religieuse et artistique.

Et dans la crypte qu’il s’est lui-même construite, un être surnaturel s’agite. Ses doigts s’enroulent autour de sa faux. Son armure de bronze bruisse quand il remue. Ses yeux verts s’ouvrent, et il inspire sa première bouffée d’air depuis de longues années. Puis, il esquisse un sourire.