20 Historical Insults That Make Us Laugh Today

Calling someone “you, you son of a bitch Z, you worthless letter” is such a singular little masterpiece that it hardly needs translating. In King Lear, Shakespeare imbued the letter Z with a connotation of personal failure, representing a level of pettiness that most group discussions can only dream of reaching. 

It is said that when Alexander the Great stood before Diogenes and offered him all sorts of favors, Diogenes asked him for only one thing: “Move out of the way.” This insult is funny because it treats one of history’s greatest egos as if he were a lamp in the wrong place. 

Shakespeare didn’t settle for just one insult when he could have hurled a dozen. In Henry IV, Part 1, Falstaff is called a “skinny little thing,” an “elf’s skin,” and a “dried ox tongue”—which sounds less like an argument and more like someone furiously unloading the contents of a medieval pantry. 

Mr. Darcy’s famous initial rejection of Elizabeth Bennet is delightful, for it is at once so restrained and so rude. “Tolerable” is perhaps the most chilling word in the English language when uttered by a wealthy man at a ball, convinced that no one of importance can hear him.

The exchange between Churchill and Bessie Braddock has been recounted in many different ways, which is usually a sign that one should be wary. Yet the exact wording of this retort has stuck in people’s minds: “You may be right tonight, but tomorrow you’ll be the one in a bind.” 

The story goes that George Bernard Shaw offered Churchill tickets to a premiere and told him to bring a friend, “if you have one.” Churchill’s alleged reply—promising to attend the second performance “if there is one”—is a theatrical critique as sharp as a bayonet.

Oscar Wilde’s remark that Shaw had no enemies because none of his friends liked him is a refined cruelty cloaked in velvet. It seems almost polite until one realizes that it has discreetly stripped the play of any sense of social comfort. 

In Twelfth Night, Shakespeare describes him as having “a most fragile mother-of-pearl membrane,” which basically amounts to saying—in a somewhat sophisticated way—that this character’s brain isn’t exactly the team’s strongest link. This insult makes us smile today, because it cloaks his foolishness in medical Latin before letting him stumble across the stage. 

Calvin Coolidge was nicknamed “Silent Cal”; so when he did speak, his words usually carried weight. When asked what he thought of the execution of a singer, he reportedly replied that he was entirely in favor of it—a short sentence that hits like a sudden blow.

Benjamin Disraeli’s retort about dying on the gallows or of natural causes is one of those political insults that never fail to pack a punch. Whether or not it was polished during rehearsals, the punchline works because it transforms a threat into a choice between a matter of public principle and a private scandal. 

Winston Churchill is often credited with saying that Clement Attlee was “a modest man who had every reason to be.” It’s the kind of insult that comes dressed in a fine suit, then quietly steals the silverware. The funniest part is the gentleness with which it’s done, as if it were merely a polite conversation while simultaneously sweeping someone’s entire professional career off the table.

The feud between Faulkner and Hemingway had all the makings of a sparring match between two brilliant men who were struggling not to admit that they respected each other. After Faulkner criticized Hemingway’s vocabulary, Hemingway retorted by asserting that great emotions did not require grand words—a statement that served as both a defense and a scathing rebuke. 

Mary McCarthy’s jab at Lillian Hellman is almost too scathing to bear: she declared that every word Hellman wrote was a lie, “including ‘and’ and ‘the.’” This insult is funny because it doesn’t even leave the most insignificant words a corner to hide in. It also had real repercussions, as Hellman sued McCarthy for defamation after the remark was aired on The Dick Cavett Show.

Groucho is also credited with this line: “I never forget a face, but in your case, I’ll gladly make an exception.” It’s a sharp, absurd, and theatrical line—the kind of insult that almost naturally calls for a drumroll. 

Oscar Wilde once described a woman lacking in elegance as reminding him of “a poorly bound hymnal”—an image so strikingly vivid that it becomes funnier the more one thinks about it. One can immediately picture that poor book: stiff, rigid, and, in a way, coated with a layer of disappointment. 

Dorothy Parker’s line, “Beauty is only skin-deep, but ugliness goes right to the bone,” has the sharp click of a handbag clasp. It’s harsh, there’s no doubt about it, but the phrasing is so flawless that you can almost hear the room pause before bursting into laughter. 

Gertrude’s line in Hamlet—“more substance, less form”—is the refined precursor to the expression “get to the point.” It isn’t flashy, but it has that touch of irony characteristic of someone who has shown patience for exactly as long as society required.

Groucho’s line, “I had an absolutely wonderful evening—but it wasn’t this one,” is the kind of closing remark you’d love to have at the ready after a disastrous evening. It sounds charming until you grasp its meaning—at which point the whole evening collapses like a cheap folding chair.

Shakespeare had a knack for making his insults seem both ancient and, at the same time, disconcertingly relevant. In Twelfth Night, wishing that Jupiter would fill someone’s skull with gray matter is essentially the same as saying, “May heaven fill the gaps.” 

Sometimes, even the smallest insult endures because it travels light. “Tolerable” is neither a cry nor a curse nor a resounding public humiliation, but in Jane Austen’s writing, this word becomes the expression of a man who underestimates the woman who will ultimately turn his whole life upside down.