A COLLECTION OF QUOTES FROM FORMER #1 POUND-FOR-POUND MMA FIGHTER, RONDA ROUSEY, & HER MOTHER, THE FIRST U.S. CITIZEN TO WIN A WORLD JUDO CHAMPIONSHIP
Bitch, I'm going to break your fucking arm today.1
Moral casuistry is of interest only to strict moralists; in the extreme cases where life is threatened, moral laxity acquires almost every license, thus sheltering all of morality’s fundamental principles from the test of holding water.2
I'm gonna talk a bunch of shit. And I'm gonna break a couple of girls' arms, and I'm not gonna feel the least bit sorry about it.
It is easy not to diagnose bloodthirsty bestiality in oneself, even with the most thorough investigation.
Right now, I'm the baddest chick on the planet. And no matter what else happens to me, I have that. If I don't, I'm just a loser and I'm back in 2008, a drunk bartender living off of french fries and smoking menthols. And no one wants to smoke menthols. Menthols are disgusting.
Stoics differentiated between what is proper to oneself and what is foreign, between what is inalienable and what is dispensable, between what can be affected and what is unreachable. From this perspective, property was foreign; one could cast it away without doing any harm to the core of what is proper to oneself. One could be affected, could win and lose with respect to what is foreign to oneself, not with respect to what is proper. Whatever can be cast away, let it perish, so that one cannot be destroyed by associating it too much with what is proper to oneself.
She's a sweet girl, super-awesome chick. But every single time I looked at her, I thought, I'm gonna send her home unrecognizable to her own child.
Were he to drown in the ocean, Hebbel writes, he wouldn’t see in it fate’s private hatred of me, as perhaps earlier, but merely the proof that I couldn’t swim.
She's dumb too. She's made a whole career out of getting her ass kicked by me.
What is attainable is no longer interesting.
Which she was entirely right to do. I would have done it if I was her.
The other’s demise is a small consolation once one’s own death appears to be inevitable.
This chick I'm fighting next will never know how many things I've done for her to make sure I could personally kick her ass and people would be entertained by it. See, you let the plant grow and then you fuck the plant up. If only they knew how much I do for them.
One easily ruins both the pleasure and the sense of significance in this great scene if one inquires into the premises of its “school of thought.”
I don't feel the need to be the hot chick every second of the day.
One doesn’t say it, but the creation of doubt was, for the most part, knowledge’s soundest accomplishment.
If it's just about sex, I could get laid any old time. It's not about that. It's not like I have this fleeting window of time where I can have a sex life, whereas I do have this fleeting window of time where I can accomplish all these other things. If anything, it'll be better for my sex life if I get all this other shit done, because I'll be more durable afterward.
The advantage of distance: to let that which is to come, not the present, tip the scale. This, however, did not make humans trusting.
And, you know, being hard to figure out helps keep people interested.
What has not been understood is humanity’s greatest source of consolation. Goethe knew all about this.
I don't believe too much in regretting shit. It’s a very wasteful use of energy.
The feeling that the world is meaningless does yet not imply that it might, in the end, be experienced as meaningful.
If you don't want to go to the Olympics, I have no problem telling everyone to go fuck themselves.
One reads that the passions (pathemata) often become lessons (mathemata) for one who is ready to learn.
OK, because if you want to be top in the world, it's going to take a lot of gut-wrenching, balls-to-the-wall work, and that's it.
How far can one go with this ritual? The gods are insatiable; they drive up the price of rescue and favor.
Mom-isms: "Winning is a habit." "Nobody's easy until after you beat them.”
We live in a world of simulation; this even allows the world to be adapted to philosophical “systems.”
I only have so much ring time that my body can endure. I've had four surgeries on my knees, arthritis in my neck, separated my shoulders, broken my nose. I'm just gonna hope that science advances faster than I can deteriorate. Because what am I gonna do? Put a perfect body into the ground? What's the point of that?
“Formerly [Früher], many sailors didn’t want to learn to swim,” Ernst Jünger notes in his late diaries, adding by way of explanation that they had “their reasons for this.” The naming of these reasons can apparently be omitted; it would preserve the profundity.
I need to feel pressure. I need to feel like winning is the biggest deal in the fucking universe. I wouldn't do as well without people watching. I'd still win. But I wouldn't do it with such pizazz.
Meaninglessness insinuates not only a lack but also a withholding, a robbing of what is essential.
I don't know what my problem is, and why I get so shy that I have trouble speaking, when I'm so bold in other areas. I have an actual issue, I do believe.
Among language’s amazing inventions, one can count the invention of the unsayable; not only as a statement of failure in what is essential and considerable, but also as the marking of what has been affected by language’s self-limitation: the marking of the “individual” and the “one,” each on opposite ends of the scale of all that exists, as Neoplatonism first postulated them.
I love heights, love bugs, loved to dig up earthworms, like snakes and slimy things, jumping off things, fire. I’m fine with all of it, always thought I'd be great on Fear Factor, because I'd eat that goat dick just like that. It's the thought of failing. That is my one and only big fear.
Sigmund Freud rightfully said that whoever asks for the meaning of life is sick. From this it follows that he must be healed, not satisfied; and if not healed, then consoled.
1. Hedegaard, Erik, “Ronda Rousey: The World's Most Dangerous Woman.” Rolling Stone, 28 May 2015.
2. Blumenberg, Hans, (Trans.) Paul Fleming. Care Crosses the River. (Redwood City: Stanford University Press, 2010)
Amanda DeMarco, based in Berlin, is an editor, translator, and founder of Readux Books. She appears in Hotel #2.