Life justified itself. It might be cruel, treacherous, ironic, but it was life, and pain was as much a part of it as joy.
Huamns, uregulated, are cruel and capricious; violet and selfish; miserable and quarrelsome. It is only after their instincts and basic emotions have been controlled that they can be happy, generous, and good.
the territory of grief. . . is both cruel and commonplace.
Let's say there was no terrorism whatsoever and we were all very nice to one another and we were all kind, we still would be faced with an extremely cruel and hostile universe and existence and so I'm a great pessimist and I feel that it's impossible really to be happy, and that the best you can hope for is to be distracted.
Every social injustice is not only cruel, but it is economic waste.
There are a lot of myths which make the human race cruel and barbarous and unkind. Good and Evil, Sin and Crime, Free Will and the like delusions made to excuse God for damning men and to excuse men for crucifying each other.
I suppose the other thing too many forget is that we were all stories once, each and every one of us. And we remain stories. But too often we allow those stories to grow banal, or cruel or unconnected to each other. We allow the stories to continue, but they no longer have a heart. They no longer sustain us.
The cold, cruel reality is that with one current justice now approaching ninety, and four others over seventy, the day will inevitably arrive when a sitting justice lies in an intensive care unit, both unable to resign and unable to resume his or her duties.
That he delights in the misery of others no man will confess, and yet what other motive can make a father cruel?
Love is more cruel than lust.
There is nothing more atrociously cruel than an adored child.
Kids are really cruel.
Cannons and fire-arms are cruel and damnable machines; I believe them to have been the direct suggestion of the Devil. If Adam had seen in a vision the horrible instruments his children were to invent, he would have died of grief.
But insensate Time is nothing if not cruel and heartless. It corrodes then destroys, so that the man you literally and figuratively looked up to with your chubby face, who scooped you up to cross the street and patted you on the head to laughter, will later look through you from a crooked hospital bed then blindly up at you while wearing makeup in a bargain casket. The people who now surround you generating warmth will disappear leaving only an empty chill; the body you own and the brain it houses will malfunction.
Man is the only animal that is cruel. It kills just for the sake of it.
How cruel my suffering is,—no one is more talkative than I am!
The paternalist is a sentimentalist at heart, and the sentimentalist is always potentially cruel.
One can't be kind to one person and cruel to another.
But what a cruel thing is war to separate and destroy families and friends.
Fear is cruel and mean.