Quotes About Traffic

L.A. is such a big city, and theres so much going on. I mean, you know youre in L.A. when you can just hear sirens all the time.

To call New York's traffic at holiday time a nightmare is to understate.

I think driving, at least for me, is a good way to listen to music. Sitting in traffic gives you time to listen to an entire record straight through and give it almost [your] full attention.

Every Owner's nightmare was to get stuck in traffic w / a trailer full of horses and a hurricane approaching.

the town showed a dead level of mean ugliness and squalor. The broad street was churned up by the traffic into a horrible rutted paste of muddy snow. The sidewalks were narrow and uneven. The numerous gas-lamps served only to show more clearly a long line of wooden houses, each with its veranda facing the street, unkempt and dirty.

It was herself she was exhausted by. She had lost the ability to keep her discrete worlds discrete—a skill that many consider to be the cornerstone of sanity. The traffic inside her head seemed to have stopped believing in traffic lights. The result was incessant noise, a few bad crashes and eventually gridlock.

The traffic inside her head seemed to have stopped believing in traffic lights. The result was incessant noise, a few bad crashes and eventually gridlock.

Il traffico nella sua testa sembrava aver smesso di credere nei semafori. Il risultato fu uno strepito continuo, alcuni brutti incidenti e alla fine il blocco totale.

stilts, the ground floors given over to parking. It's a good idea in this car-maddened city

If you think it is hard to get humans to follow traffic laws, imagine convincing an asteroid to move along an ellipse.

The Americans, he laughed drunkenly. They build more cars than anybody in the world, and take them out and dump them in terrible traffic jams. The only thing crazier than the Americans were the Russians, who never had traffic jams because they didn't have cars.

Seeing an endless red stream of tail lights, an automotive blood supply

It was a warm summer evening and the rooftop asphalt radiated heat. Below us the sounds of the city spelled a lazy Sunday in slow-moving traffic, windows down, music blaring, youths hanging out on street corners, and the distant chargrilled smells of barbecues on other rooftops.

It's all about the parking

The Viennese wash everything. Where else in the world does the government hire public servants to wash public telephone booths and the glass over traffic lights? Every time I see someone doing these things, I smile like a child.

Then, the stunningly white cubes that make up the Getty Museum. It's an architectural masterpiece funded by a venal billionaire's trust, housing third-rate art. Pure L.A.: might makes right and packaging is all. Traffic

Red everywhere on Waze, as if the city were bleeding.

Heights—an orange-vested Caltrans crew, stupidest agency in the state, taking petty-fascist satisfaction in blocking off two lanes. I sat, idling along with the Seville, rolled a foot or two, sat some more, finally got past La Cienega. Unmindful of the noise and the dirt. New focus: yearning to feel useful.

The carriage was frequently halted by the mass of vehicles which made London's streets increasingly noisy and dangerous. Drivers cursed and cracked their whips, horses snorted and whinnied until they surged forward again with a rattle of wheels and a tattoo of hooves, only to meet with an immobile line of traffic at the next junction.

Hyde Park Corner is what happens when a bunch of urban planners take one look at the grinding circle of gridlock that surrounds the Arc de Triomphe in Paris and think—that's what we want for our town.

Archway is where the post-war dream of the urban motorway died in the teeth of local opposition and the inability of the designers to answer basic traffic management questions.

A society sufficiently sophisticated to produce the internal combustion engine has not had the sophistication to develop cheap and efficient public transport?' 'Yes, boss... it's true. There's hardly any buses, the trains are hopelessly underfunded, and hence the entire population is stuck in traffic

MI5 was careful to destroy the traffic, aware of the potential repercussions if the inhabitants of southern London realized they were being sacrificed to protect the center of the city.

Below, he could see down the entire Strip, from the radioactive green lion at the base of the MGM Grand to the glowing spire of the Stratosphere. The logjam street traffic just added to the visual effect: a thousand headlights blinking like neurons in the glowing spine that snaked down the center of the city.