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Outsider Quotes

Browse 78 quotes about Outsider.

Outsider Quotes

“...ever since he was young there grew a sense that he did not belong. Somehow, he was not like the others, somehow, he spent his days somewhere else, outside space and outside time, to avoid those around him. Not because he wanted to, he was quite innocent then, but because he was forced to the outside of the circle: ostracized, an outcast. Now even in his older years it haunted him still. He wasn’t like the other students at the university.”

“The Promethean = the Faustian = the eternal seeker = the eternal wanderer = the eternal quester. The Promethean is a romantic, a striving figure, an outsider, a non-conformist. He’s often alone. Conventional society has rejected him and, more importantly, he has rejected conventional society. The HyperHuman plays the Great Game – the God Game. His objective it to transform himself into God ... to undergo the ultimate metamorphosis. The HyperHuman is a new kind of knight, a knight of the mind. He seeks to merit the title of “knight” and lives courageously by a noble code. His life has total focus and purpose. His mind is always focused on the Holy Grail. The search for the Grail is the symbol of the HyperHuman’s search for heaven, for God, to become God.”

“Ahhh, John Clark—totally dope. I’m simmering with curiosity about their romance. I guess that’s what people without romance do . . . wonder. It all started with him. Now, I die a little more every day. Only a fellow shipwrecked lover could possibly understand.”

“True, beneath the human façade, I was an interloper, an alien whose ship had crashed beyond hope of repair in the backwoods of Southern Appalachia—but at least I’d learned to walk and talk enough like the locals to be rejected as one of their own.”

“In any contentious debate, some people will find it advantageous to align themselves with the crowd, while a smaller number will come to see themselves as persecuted outsiders. This may especially hold in a field like climate science, where the data is noisy and the predictions are hard to experience in a visceral way. And it may be especially common in the United States, which is admirably independent-minded.”

“Some people only needed you for transactions. Don’t let sweet personalities fool you into thinking they’ll hold your hand if it’s got blood on it. If one day, you lost a leg, your boss wouldn’t close the store branch for you. If you lost a home, your old classmates wouldn’t lend you theirs. If you decided to give up, your circle will say you made the right decision. No one’s going to save you, but they love meeting you. And so suddenly, when you lose, the whole world turns on you. A freak— as if alienation was only one amputation, one home, one failure away.”

“I had chosen to play the detective—and if there is one thing that unites all the detectives I've ever read about, it's their inherent loneliness. The suspects know each other. They may well be family or friends. But the detective is always the outsider. He asks the necessary questions but he doesn't actually form a relationship with anyone. He doesn't trust them, and they in turn are afraid of him. It's a relationship based entirely on deception and it's one that, ultimately, goes nowhere. Once the killer has been identified, the detective leaves and is never seen again. In fact, everyone is glad to see the back of him.”

“Saul had gained his six-foot frame at sixteen, but his muscles didn’t arrive until his early twenties. Between those lost years, he was a gangly, uncoordinated klutz. He was told that he could improve his dancing by watching himself in the mirror. He tried. What he saw was so repulsive that he resolved never to inflict himself on a dance partner. These days, Saul hid those memories behind weight lifting and jogging. His new athletic physique hid his aimless decade as an outsider, an odd and lonely kid--as he remembered it.”

“The victims of PTSD often feel morally tainted by their experiences, unable to recover confidence in their own goodness, trapped in a sort of spiritual solitary confinement, looking back at the rest of the world from beyond the barrier of what happened. They find themselves unable to communicate their condition to those who remained at home, resenting civilians for their blind innocence. The Moral Injury, New York Times. Feb 17, 2015”

“Everything in her life, she could see now, had taken the same turn—as for love, she often puzzled and puzzled, without ever allowing herself to be fully sad, as to what could be wrong with the formula. It does not work, she thought. At times there were moments when she asked herself if she could have been in the wrong: she would almost rather think that. What she thought she regretted was her lack of guard, her wayward extravagance—but had she all the time been more guarded than she imagined, had she been deceitful, had she been seen through? For what had always happened she could still not account. There seemed to be some way she did not know of by which people managed to understand each other.”

“It’s worth stressing that wealth and success are never the top motivators for geniuses. Most geniuses have ended up in poverty, obscurity and failure. Genius has its price and that price is normally the total blank incomprehension, or even active contempt, of the world. A genius is invariably an outsider, rebel and revolutionary. All new ideas threaten the Old Order, and the Old Order is never interested in losing its power and prestige. The currently rich and successful do not want to open the doors to their own replacements. They’re not stupid. Geniuses never get along with the Old Order. After all, geniuses are here precisely to change the Old Ways.”

“Luz cleared her throat. “I’ve always said, ‘Getting a foothold in a country that doesn’t want you is daunting, but determination and good manners can go a long way.’ So, be careful. Gays are outsiders too . . . just like us.” Luz smiled. “But, life in the shadows isn’t so bad.” “You don’t have a Green Card?” Zoe asked. “No. And I’m not attracted to men. But I’ll never be Mexican again. I’m a child of free enterprise, wandering through an international marketplace. I may only work in a nail salon, but at least I’m part of America’s circus of self-invention.”

“All the way, Zoe kept her chin up and pretended she wasn’t mortified, but his sour expression stayed with her. She wasn’t good at making American friends. She changed her language, conduct, and clothing, but it didn’t seem to matter. Whether she wore modest Middle-Eastern clothing or cute Western fashions, everyone knew she didn’t belong.”

“Zoe stopped one last time in front of the mirror, adjusting her new American dress. She didn’t see the dress, however. She saw what the big Russian did to her. She saw what al-Qaeda did to her. She saw a person shunned by her Persian village. She saw ugliness. Every time she looked in the mirror she saw deficiency.”

“It’s time to introduce a new fallacy that we have coined the Kool-Aid Fallacy. It goes like this: “You disagree with me and I’m in the majority while you’re in the minority. Therefore you’re a cult. Jim Jones led a cult and all of his followers drank poisoned Kool-Aid. Therefore, you’re a suicide cult and I am entitled to say, ‘Keep drinking the Kool-Aid.’” It’s unbelievable how many times this fallacy appears on social media. It is now so common that we can validly refer to a Kool-Aid version of Godwin’s Law. Any strong-minded minority with ideas that challenge the common herd will automatically be called a cult and then it is inevitable that Kool-Aid will be mentioned. Whenever any troll refers to “drinking the Kool-Aid”, they should immediately be labeled as having committed the Kool-Aid fallacy.”

“Our work is rejected because we are actually interested in the truth. Not a good look! People are “ashamed and embarrassed” by our work because, like Nietzsche’s work, it’s full of “difficult” material. Nietzsche was totally ignored during his sane life. Even today, the common herd don’t have a clue who he is. Leibniz, humanity’s greatest genius, is more or less unknown. That’s the way it goes. Our work is suffering the same fate. Well, it’s no surprise. We refused to play the Mandarin game. We refused to comply with the herd. Like true philosophers, we prefer to be Sages and Gadflies. The masses killed Socrates. Everyone that refuses to share our work is passing us the hemlock. So be it! We have total contempt for people that claim to like our work, but wouldn’t be seen dead sharing it on social media. You must be able to stand with those making difficult arguments that the herd don’t like. We disagree with Nietzsche on all manner of things, but we would certainly stand shoulder to shoulder with him against the herd. It’s essential for Gadflies to exist to shake the masses out of their complacency. Yet the Gadflies are always hated and, in the end, they are always handed the hemlock. They are the true heroes of our world, the ones that never get any credit.”

“There exists a culture shared even by those who are dissatisfied with mass culture, and it is among the most dangerous precisely because it is dazzling—deceptive. It is a culture that belongs to those who are "dissatisfied with the world as it is." This manifests in the following ways: They still carry a certain belief and hope in humanity. If they suffer, they might dream that their suffering will one day “be heard by everyone.” Through their works, they may fantasize about becoming popular. They might romanticize the psychiatric term "trauma." They might aim to "fix and recover" things or people. They might set their minds on leaving a "meaningful impact" and become activists. They might frequently “discuss” on philosophy forums. They might be aiming at “dark vibes.” They might cling to mottos like “forever alone.” They might refer to themselves as "just a random book lover.” They might have interests in “just some random weird stuff.” They might still be screaming into the void. They might try to “prove their depth” publicly. They might refer to themselves as "lost souls" to the point of weariness, even internalizing this very term—coined by the system to reduce by classifying them—implying a form of domesticated rebellion. And so on. These supposed outsiders are actually on the inside, worshipping at the altar of visibility, validation, and vague worldly hope. Their beliefs—“art-as-cure,” “literature-as-refuge,” “activism-as-purpose”—are not radical to the point of exile but packaged and predictable. They don't reject the system; they only ask to be understood within its boundaries. They weep, but with an eye to applause. They write, but always with a publisher in mind. They compose, but just to make money. They mourn, but only to be noticed. They claim detachment, but still speak as if begging to be liked and heard. They imagine themselves as “wild,” but only within the categories that subcultures and language allow. After all, there are two ends to the ruins: on one end, these kinds of “loners” who are still tied to conventional wisdom; and on the other, the utterly unknown, mystic, cosmic, and free spirits who have transcended everything human.”