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Culture Critique Quotes

Browse 39 quotes about Culture Critique.

Culture Critique Quotes

“Fantasy like thought that no man could rain Just let her reign Run wild with her unafraid Of any rain storms They only wash the mud away and make way For double rainbows and sunny days”

“...I fell asleep and had a dream that a king was liquidated by a group of kind faces...”

“Mollycoddling was the mother's duty; the father's lay elsewhere. As a consequence, his four older children feared and respected him, as they had been taught to do, and the love the professed to feel, had they been asked and had they answered truthfully or even had access to the truth, was of a duty-bound, obligatory kind too, a love issuing from commandment and tradition and the notion of family, not one from the tides of the heart or the unbridled, inexplicable pull of feelings. If painted, that love would take the form of a polite and manicured wash of pleasant colours, not the hurl-and-splatter of impastoed reds.”

“Look for a miracle in every encounter.”

“The different shades of colours present cultural diversity.”

“People, even smart ones, come up with weird or silly reasons to entertain bad ideas all the time. In fact, smart people may be more prone to creating irrational stories and engaging in dumb behavior than lesser smart people, for the simple fact that there are more (cognitive) tools at their disposal.”

“Unexpected snags can arise on a ride; just as unexpected snags arise in life. But the pain is temporary, the emotions are temporary, and the setbacks can provide the space for a valuable lesson, if we're open to learning. Keep pedaling.”

“Anxiety, and mental disorder more generally, can be exceptionally difficult to process, and for good reason. At the time of this writing, in 2023, humans are still battling the stigmas derived from centuries of misconception, fear, and discrimination around mental illness. It still has an attribution to demonic possession, evidence of witchcraft, or is labeled as a hysteria tied to an animal-like 'wandering uterus,' that could attach itself to organs in the female body, and cause disruption in bodily function and painful symptoms (seriously).”

“We can’t control everything. And we sure as hell can’t change people without those people wanting to change and doing the work themselves. All we can do is have the presence of mind to focus on the task at hand. The grit to work through the problem to the best of our ability. The courage to make the best decision we can at the time. The patience to trust the process, and the humility to learn from it.”

“Looking out over the cliffs of Amalfi, I snapped a photo, dropped it into a WhatsApp chat with the Doughboys, and wrote: “You know guys…I could be anywhere in the world, the most exotic location imaginable, but nothing can replace hanging with my brothers.”

“Well, I spent two weeks on that island watching couples celebrate and enjoy honeymoons, anniversaries, and romantic vacations together, wondering if I’d ever find love again,” she said. “And on the last day of my trip, having one last drink at the local bar with my friend, after all expectations of finding love in the Virgin Islands had faded, there he was.”

“It was through bikes that I learned how to be a kid again. How to be comfortable in solitude.”

“Fast forward to six hours later and the three of us are causing a scene: telling stories in raised voices, cackling, singing, spilling wine on ourselves, spilling wine on each other. Yours truly making runs to the back of the plane for refills in thirty-minute intervals. “Do we have any more red wine left?” one stewardess asked another. Before we knew it, sunlight was peering through the windows, the rest of the passengers were waking up, and the stewardess was rolling the cart down the aisle for morning coffee service. We must have had thirteen rounds of red wine over the eight-hour flight. The three of us stumbled our way off the plane and through Italian customs, completely wrecked.”

“After a slight diversion around Milan Centrale, I found my way to Como and got my bike down the street to my apartment. I quickly assembled the bike, rolled it down the stairs, and cruised down the street for a leisurely ride to the lake, managing to forget that I’d consumed thirteen glasses of wine and hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. Welcome to Italy, I thought to myself. Let’s go!”

“I looked out over the lake, a vast plane of deep azure and emerald under a clear blue sky, noticing the reflection of the towering Italian Alps visible in the gentle ripples of the water. This, I thought to myself, is amazing. Just as my dopamine levels were peaking, the happiness dial turned to eleven, my attention was drawn to a peculiar object hovering in the air roughly twenty yards in front of me, spiraling my direction like a tiny heat seeking missile locked on to my forehead. Curious, I thought to myself. Before I could react, the object—a giant bee from hell—contacted the front of my helmet.”

“I had a knack for sniffing out the rowdiest dive bars, the real ones, dark, loud, and rough around the edges, always with the distinct foul smell of old beer and urine. The Est Est Est was no different. The exterior of the building was lined with locals talking amidst a cloud of cigarette smoke. The interior was nearly pitch black, if it weren’t for the rainbow-colored disco ball spinning rays of light across the bar. I recognized a pair of patrons from the previous bar.”

“Stopping to take in the surroundings and to notice the simple pleasures of life was a habit I’d been working on ever since a friend from grad school recommended the motion picture About Time. The film, centered around a father and son who possess the power of time travel, reveals that no amount of revisiting the past could compare to fully appreciating the present moment. The trip that I’d now found myself on offered the opportunity to practice this act of noticing.”

“Like any endurance sport, cycling can bring about a psychological battle against the 'quit' that arises in your mind. When your body is tired and sore, when your heart rate is at its max, when your lungs cannot give enough oxygen, cycling is about finding the motivation to push through this pain to reach the summit, because you've learned that the rewards of the future surpass the costs of the present.”

“I explained my experience after ten years in the Los Angeles music industry. The ruthless competition. The scheming sharks looking for any opportunity to devour the weak. The masks that many wear to conceal a cold, calculated agenda. The transactional conversations disguised as friendly interactions. How the desperation to get a little more recognition, to get a little closer to an artist, to get that Instagram mention or land a spot on Billboard’s 30 under 30 list, drives even the most kind and empathetic people to view others as a mere utility.”

“In addition to this stigma, many men who suffer from mental illness find significant difficulty in overcoming the cultural barriers and emotional illiteracy best defined as 'toxic masculinity.' In other words, the idea that vulnerability and the open discussion of one’s feelings is considered a sign of weakness, counter to the behaviors of the traditional male role.”

“Now, sitting in the cafe, I thought of the cyclist as a painter. The planning of a ride as the foundation for a masterpiece—a vision for an artistic endeavor that interweaves man and machine. Each landscape, each environment, providing a canvas. Each GPS route offering an outline, never perfectly followed. Each turn, jump, climb, descent, and successfully navigated feature, a brush stroke on canvas. Like the work of an impressionist painter, no ride, and no riding style, could be replicated. Each rider creates their own unique sense of movement, color, and perspective. Each rider communicates through their riding.”

“Wherever you travel to, appreciate the culture and beauty of the place.”

“A culture that denies death is a barrier to achieving a good death. Overcoming our fears and wild misconceptions about death will be no small task, but we shouldn't forget how quickly other cultural prejudices--racism, sexism, homophobia--have begun to topple in the recent past. It is high time death had its own moment of truth.”

“An Orwellian world is much easier to recognize, and to oppose, than a Huxleyan. Everything in our background has prepared us to know and resist a prison when the gates begin to close around us. We are not likely, for example, to be indifferent to the voices of the Sakharovs and the Timmermans and the Walesas. We take arms against such a sea of troubles, buttressed by the spirit of Milton, Bacon, Voltaire, Goethe and Jefferson. But what if there are no cries of anguish to be heard? Who is prepared to take arms against a sea of amusements? To whom do we complain, and when, and in what tone of voice, when serious discourse dissolves into giggles? What is the antidote to a culture’s being drained by laughter? I fear that our philosophers have given us no guidance in this matter.”

“American culture has regressed because of contemporary society’s glorification of making a good living and spending free time in media activities rather than constantly devoting themselves to a learning and self-improvement. The combination of grooming youngsters to fit into a commercial workplace and Americans willingness to submit themselves to endless hours of watching television shows filled with murders, violence, sex, and replete with advertisements that promote the goods of commercial giants has eroded the American spirit and contributed to lack of an intellectually sophisticated populous.”

“Dear Amnesiac, Yes, your pyramids were raised Roughly up at right angles To exert out loud and bright in the jungle And obscure in darkness the jungle around— And how many years is it you're living In fear of the darkness there created? You’ve your back to the door and the four corners You’re standing in a room with walls and a floor But just the same as any other You’ve stood in in pictures or places before. Alien in your place of birth, you pound An outraged fist into your palm, but are Too over-tired and too much adrift, Not at home, grown absent in an absent world. So— your steam engine roared Across space and the four seasons, And from conductors’ hands unloaded Its surplus even to the farthest hamlet. Yes, your transportations have taken you Beyond the known horizon, but not any Nearer to infinity, nor to eternity. That is the moon double-paned in the window-glass But could just as well be another bulb reflected. Afloat, nowhere, a ghost you have become You having from many hands vanished. Your mind will not stop wandering, and all over These carnival streets is too much noise for hearing. You have withdrawn from this; are living in fear. You fear death and the chances of death So far removed you live from dying... And waking up you find the day is there, Existing, all-ready, you can only enter— And looking to the night you see a frontier that's Cold, empty, like it's a world you've never known. You've become stuck in the middle of it, without any Sense of the horizons, and are all the time crying Too furious for the ruin of your world. But every thing in ruin must first be made: A wildfire only burns, transforms The wood, and passes. It is not a collapse. Too anxious you’re striving to build a new day— Every morning only awaits your being born.”

“In WASP families, if you don't get along with someone, you have as little to do with them as possible. In Jewish families, you move next door, to make them as miserable as possible.”