What is another word for simpletons?

Pronunciation: [sˈɪmpə͡ltənz] (IPA)

Simpletons are people who lack intelligence or have a limited understanding of things. There are several synonyms for the word simpletons, including dunces, nitwits, fools, morons, imbeciles, dimwits, boneheads, and half-wits. These words are often used to describe people who are slow to learn, lack common sense, and make foolish decisions. While some of these words may be considered offensive or insulting, they are still commonly used in everyday conversation. It is important to be aware of their potential impact on others and to use them respectfully and appropriately. Overall, synonyms for simpletons allow us to describe individuals who may not possess the same level of intelligence as others in a more diplomatic manner.

What are the hypernyms for Simpletons?

A hypernym is a word with a broad meaning that encompasses more specific words called hyponyms.

Usage examples for Simpletons

They are simpletons who believe that women cannot reason and understand.
"Marie Bashkirtseff (From Childhood to Girlhood)"
Marie Bashkirtseff
Go, but still regret it, Regret has its charms, as one of the pleasant simpletons called poets has said.
"Marie Bashkirtseff (From Childhood to Girlhood)"
Marie Bashkirtseff
So you really believed-oh, what simpletons you Frenchmen are!
"The Woman of Mystery"
Maurice Leblanc

Famous quotes with Simpletons

  • If there be in nature such a principle as justice, it is necessarily the only principle there ever was, or ever will be.  All the other so-called political principles, which men are in the habit of inventing, are not principles at all.  They are either the mere conceits of simpletons, who imagine they have discovered something better than truth, and justice, and universal law; or they are mere devices and pretences, to which selfish and knavish men resort as means to get fame, and power, and money.
    Lysander Spooner
  • That sovereign of insufferables, Oscar Wilde has ensued with his opulence of twaddle and his penury of sense. He has mounted his hind legs and blown crass vapidities through the bowel of his neck, to the capital edification of circumjacent fools and foolesses, fooling with their foolers. He has tossed off the top of his head and uttered himself in copious overflows of ghastly bosh. The ineffable dunce has nothing to say and says it—says it with a liberal embellishment of bad delivery, embroidering it with reasonless vulgarities of attitude, gesture and attire. There never was an impostor so hateful, a blockhead so stupid, a crank so variously and offensively daft. Therefore is the she fool enamored of the feel of his tongue in her ear to tickle her understanding. The limpid and spiritless vacuity of this intellectual jellyfish is in ludicrous contrast with the rude but robust mental activities that he came to quicken and inspire. Not only has he no thoughts, but no thinker. His lecture is mere verbal ditch-water—meaningless, trite and without coherence. It lacks even the nastiness that exalts and refines his verse. Moreover, it is obviously his own; he had not even the energy and independence to steal it. And so, with a knowledge that would equip and idiot to dispute with a cast-iron dog, and eloquence to qualify him for the duties of a caller on a hog-ranch, and an imagination adequate to the conception of a tom-cat, when fired by contemplation of a fiddle-string, this consummate and star-like youth, missing everywhere his heaven-appointed functions and offices, wanders about, posing as a statue of himself, and, like the sun-smitten image of Memnon, emitting meaningless murmurs in the blaze of women’s eyes. He makes me tired. And this gawky gowk has the divine effrontery to link his name with those of Swinburne, Rossetti and Morris—this dunghill he-hen would fly with eagles. He dares to set his tongue to the honored name of Keats. He is the leader, quoth’a, of a renaissance in art, this man who cannot draw—of a revival of letters, this man who cannot write! This little and looniest of a brotherhood of simpletons, whom the wicked wits of London, haling him dazed from his obscurity, have crowned and crucified as King of the Cranks, has accepted the distinction in stupid good faith and our foolish people take him at his word. Mr. Wilde is pinnacled upon a dazzling eminence but the earth still trembles to the dull thunder of the kicks that set him up.
    Oscar Wilde
  • There probably has to be a worldview for practical men who must be strong enough to get their hands dirty in political practice without getting dirty themselves, and even if they do, who cares? And a second worldview for youths, simpletons, women, and sensitive souls, for whom “purity” is just the right thing. One could call it a division of labor among temperaments.
    Peter Sloterdijk

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