Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by Neil Postman

Quote by Neil Postman

Work

Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business

This book delves into the transformation of public discourse from a focus on serious political and social issues to a preoccupation with entertainment and spectacle. It explores the consequences of this shift on democracy and the role of media in shaping public opinion. more

Author

Neil Postman
Neil Postman

Neil Postman (March 8, 1931 - October 5, 2003) was an American cultural critic, educator, and author. Known for his profound insights into the relationship between media, technology, and culture, Postman's work has had a significant impact on modern society. more

You May Also Like

“...there must be a sequence to learning, that perseverance and a certain measure of perspiration are indispensable, that individual pleasures must frequently be submerged in the interests of group cohesion, and that learning to be critical and to think conceptually and rigorously do not come easily to the young but are hard-fought victories.”

“Although the far territory of the extreme can exert an intoxicating pull on susceptible individuals of all bents, extremism seems to be especially prevalent among those inclined by temperament or upbringing toward religious pursuits. Faith is the very antithesis of reason, injudiciousness a crucial component of spiritual devotion. And when religious fanaticism supplants ratiocination, all bets are suddenly off.”

“So you're in love with her?' she went on. A word again ... When the minds have learnt to mingle, when no thought is wholly one's own, and each has taken too much of the other ever to be entirely himself alone; when one has reached the beginning of seeing with a single eye, loving with a single heart, enjoying with a single joy; when there can be moments of identity and nothing is separate save bodies that long for one another ... When there is that, where is the word? There is only the inadequacy of the word that exists. 'We love one another,' I said.”

“And again there are no words. Words exist that can, used by a poet, achieve a dim monochrome of the body's love, but beyond that they fail clumsily. My love flowed out to her, hers back to me. Mine stroked and soothed. Hers caressed. The distance - and the difference - between us dwindled and vanished. We could meet, mingle, and blend. Neither one of us existed any more; for a time there was a single being that was both. There was escape from the solitary cell; a brief symbiosis, sharing all the word.”