What is another word for emotionless?

Pronunciation: [ɪmˈə͡ʊʃənləs] (IPA)

Emotionless is a word that describes a state of being devoid of any feeling or expression. It can also be described as a feeling of detachment from emotions. There are several synonyms which can be used to convey a similar meaning. Some of the commonly used synonyms for emotionless include impassive, dispassionate, unfeeling, unresponsive, cold, indifferent, and stoic. These words can be used to describe a person who is unexpressive or unemotional in their demeanor. Using these synonyms can help to add variety and depth to your writing, while also conveying a specific meaning or emotion to your readers.

Synonyms for Emotionless:

What are the hypernyms for Emotionless?

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

What are the opposite words for emotionless?

Emotionless is a word that implies the absence of feeling or passion. Antonyms, on the other hand, are words that have the opposite meaning. The antonyms for emotionless are many, but some of the most common ones are passionate, fervent, enthusiastic, vehement, animated, spirited, intense, and lively. These words describe people who are deeply engaged with their emotions, express themselves fully, and have a strong connection to their feelings. They are often seen as vibrant, vibrant, and dynamic, and their energy can be contagious. Emotions are an essential part of the human experience, and embracing them can lead to a more fulfilling life.

Usage examples for Emotionless

Now, under the emotionless pseudoconsciousness of the nego, it seemed strange that he could have been interested in those futile and primitive beings.
"Fair and Warmer"
E. G. von Wald
In his emotionless state, he did not care one way or the other.
"Fair and Warmer"
E. G. von Wald
Late one night Paul Sorgel slipped into Dirrul's apartment and announced in an emotionless whisper, The Plan's ready.
"The Instant of Now"
Irving E. Cox, Jr.

Famous quotes with Emotionless

  • In televisionland we are all sophisticated enough now to realize that every statistic has an equal and opposite statistic somewhere in the universe. It is not a candidate's favorite statistic per se that engages us, but the assurance with which he can use it. We are testing the candidates for self-confidence, for "Presidentiality" in statistical bombardment. It doesn't really matter if their statistics be homemade. What settles the business is the cool with which they are dropped. And so, as the second half hour treads the decimaled path toward the third hour, we become aware of being locked in a tacit conspiracy with the candidates. We know their statistics go to nothing of importance, and they know we know, and we know they know we know. There is total but unspoken agreement that the "debate," the arguments which are being mustered here, are of only the slightest importance. As in some primitive ritual, we all agree — candidates and onlookers — to pretend we are involved in a debate, although the real exercise is a test of style and manners. Which of the competitors can better execute the intricate maneuvers prescribed by a largely irrelevant ritual? This accounts for the curious lack of passion in both performers. Even when Ford accuses Carter of inconsistency, it is done in a flat, emotionless, game-playing style. The delivery has the tuneless ring of an old press release from the Republican National Committee. Just so, when Carter has an opportunity to set pulses pounding by denouncing the Nixon pardon, he dances delicately around the invitation like a maiden skirting a bog. We judge that both men judge us to be drained of desire for passion in public life, to be looking for Presidents who are cool and noninflammable. They present themselves as passionless technocrats using an English singularly devoid of poetry, metaphor and even coherent forthright declaration. Caught up in the conspiracy, we watch their coolness with fine technical understanding and, in the final half hour, begin asking each other for technical judgments. How well is Carter exploiting the event to improve our image of him? Is Ford's television manner sufficiently self-confident to make us sense him as "Presidential"? It is quite extraordinary. Here we are, fully aware that we are being manipulated by image projectionists, yet happily asking ourselves how obligingly we are submitting to the manipulation. It is as though a rat running a maze were more interested in the psychologist's charts on his behavior than in getting the cheese at the goal line.
    Russell Baker
  • So Anthony Burgess, contrary to popular mythology, was not after all a literary genius, a novelist of world-encompassing ambition, an essayist who assessed literary reputations with the final-word gravitas of a Recording Angel; nor was he a polymath and polyglot as we'd thought, a synthesiser of all mythologies, a walking compendium of modern thought, philosophy and theology, phrase and fable, a cigar-puffing, apoplectic Dr Johnson de nos jours, a monumental figure about whom it was said when he died in 1993, that (as Thackeray said about Swift) 'thinking of him is like thinking of an empire falling'. Nope, we were all wide of the mark. Don't you hate it when you get these things completely wrong?....Seen through [Lewis's] eyes, Burgess was a mendacious, drunken, impotent, vain, emotionless, puffed-up, talentless clown who neglected his first wife as she spiralled fatally into alcoholism, who lived abroad to avoid paying tax, and nursed a sentimental chip on his shoulder about not being sufficiently respected by the British establishment....In the presence of a genuinely great man, something odd happens to you - you feel older and wiser, worldlier and cleverer, and pleased with yourself just for being in his company....He was the sort of man who made you feel like cheering just because he existed, and there's nobody remotely like him around today. There are, unfortunately, more than enough Roger Lewises.
    Anthony Burgess
  • We find it difficult to sympathise with the emotions of a potato; so we do with those of an oyster. Neither of these things makes a noise on being boiled or opened, and noise appeals to us more strongly than anything else, because we make so much about our own sufferings. Since, then, they do not annoy us by any expression of pain we call them emotionless; and so mankind they are; but mankind is not everybody.
    Samuel Butler (novelist)

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