"Wrong is for other people"
About this Quote
A neat quip that captures an everyday dodge: moral error is always someone else’s problem. The humor lands because the posture is so familiar. People explain their successes as proof of virtue and their failures as bad luck, while judging others’ missteps as character flaws. That self-serving bias keeps pride intact and reality at bay. Fanny Brice distills the habit to a single shrug: I cannot be wrong; wrong is for other people.
Brice made a career out of puncturing pretension. As a Ziegfeld Follies headliner and later on radio, she fused streetwise wit with pathos, especially through characters who wrapped insecurity in bravado. The line can be heard with that sly, brassy delivery, part swagger, part self-parody. It lampoons the grandiosity of stars and social climbers, but it also reflects a survival tactic. For a Jewish woman breaking into a male-dominated, status-obsessed entertainment world, a feigned imperviousness to error could function as armor. Comedy turns that mask inside out: the boast reveals the fear behind it.
At the same time, the sentence is a small social diagnosis. When wrong belongs only to others, accountability evaporates. Apologies become rare, learning stalls, and community thins. The joke exposes the mechanism by which institutions and individuals alike dodge responsibility, whether backstage, in politics, or at the dinner table. It is funny because it is true, and stinging because it is ours.
There is also a wink toward the American romance with winning. If success confers moral gloss, then the successful must be right by definition, and criticism is dismissed as envy. Brice’s zinger pricks that bubble. It invites a more democratic humility, the recognition that fallibility is shared. The laugh it provokes is half recognition, half reproach. The wiser response is to bring wrong back home, to own it, learn from it, and leave less of it for other people.
Brice made a career out of puncturing pretension. As a Ziegfeld Follies headliner and later on radio, she fused streetwise wit with pathos, especially through characters who wrapped insecurity in bravado. The line can be heard with that sly, brassy delivery, part swagger, part self-parody. It lampoons the grandiosity of stars and social climbers, but it also reflects a survival tactic. For a Jewish woman breaking into a male-dominated, status-obsessed entertainment world, a feigned imperviousness to error could function as armor. Comedy turns that mask inside out: the boast reveals the fear behind it.
At the same time, the sentence is a small social diagnosis. When wrong belongs only to others, accountability evaporates. Apologies become rare, learning stalls, and community thins. The joke exposes the mechanism by which institutions and individuals alike dodge responsibility, whether backstage, in politics, or at the dinner table. It is funny because it is true, and stinging because it is ours.
There is also a wink toward the American romance with winning. If success confers moral gloss, then the successful must be right by definition, and criticism is dismissed as envy. Brice’s zinger pricks that bubble. It invites a more democratic humility, the recognition that fallibility is shared. The laugh it provokes is half recognition, half reproach. The wiser response is to bring wrong back home, to own it, learn from it, and leave less of it for other people.
Quote Details
| Topic | Witty One-Liners |
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