Quotes About Traffic

if people learned what this virus could do, there would be traffic jams heading out of Reston, with mothers screaming at television cameras, "Where are my children?

Can't this thing go any faster?" Thalia demanded. Zoe glared at her. "I cannot control traffic." You both sound like my mother," I said. Shut up!" they both said in union.

You're late,' she announced. Her eyes gleamed. 'Sorry, Sunshine,' Leo said. 'Traffic was murder.' 'You are covered with soot,' she noted. 'And you managed to ruin the clothes I made for you, which were impossible to ruin.' 'Well, you know.' Leo shrugged. Somebody had released a hundred pachinko balls in his chest. 'I'm all about doing the impossible.

While the traffic is enough to make you scream, people are incredibly good-humored on the road. I never heard angry horns honking. One time, while stalled in a Tehran jam, people in a neighboring car saw me sitting patiently in the back of our van. They rolled down their window and handed Majid a bouquet of flowers, saying, "Give this to your visitor and apologize for our traffic.

If you had a daily printout from the brain of an average twenty-four-year-old male, it would probably go like this: sex, need coffee, sex, traffic, sex, sex, what an asshole, sex, ham sandwich, sex, sex , etc

The other cars had to pass noisily around us, but there was no anti-parking sign. Through the windshield, we could see another under-bridge area in front of us, and the cars that passed us were forming a line to enter it.

You're just like crosstown traffic, so hard to get through to you.

I' the commonwealth I would by contrariesExecute all things; for no kind of trafficWould I admit; no name of magistrate;Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,And use of service, none; contract, succession,Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;No occupation; all men idle, all;And women too, but innocent and pure.

I don't want to live in a city where the only cultural advantage is that you can make a right turn on a red light.

Emma was a shocking driver, simultaneously sloppy and petrified, and for the first fifty miles had been absent-mindedly driving with her spectacles on top of her contact lenses so that other traffic loomed menacingly out of nowhere like alien space cruisers.

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I stopped at a red light, feeling foolish as always for stopping at an intersection at an hour when the streets are deserted, just because a colored lightbulb told me to.

Anxiety is like being in freeway traffic all the time. There's the constant sense of dodging and darting, seeking your chance to cut in, the irritation of others pulling ahead of you. You hit the accelerator, you slam the brakes. You scout and scan for danger.

Cars are all jammed up all along the road and a light turns red and someone honks. In every one of those cars there is a story or a hundred stories. For every light on in al of those huge city buildings there is a story. No one knows what I am about to face and no one knows my story and neither do I right then.

Anxiety is like being in freeway traffic all the time. There's the constant sense of dodging and darting, seeking your chance to cut in, the irritation of others pulling ahead of you. You hit the accelerator; slam the brakes. You scout and scan for danger. Here, though, there is no traffic and no freeway. There is gentle company and books on shelves. There is quiet. There's fun. Dawn Celeste has a laugh that sounds like a pot bubbling over. Everyone gets to do as they wish.

There was a 194-car crash in Los Angeles. Luckily the guy in the first car was still able to complete his cell phone call.

Let them laugh and point. You are a yogi of traffic jams and discarded apple cores, aloneness and impossibly blue winter skies, a yogi of broken dreams, mad with truth and devotion and inexplicable joy, and you cannot be saved now.

In 1915, California's general speed limits were 10 mph "in built-up territory," 15 mph "in any city or town," and 20 mph outside these two areas. But Los Angeles restricted drivers to 12 mph in its central district, and San Diego prohibited speeds above 12 mph anywhere in the city. Speed traps enforced the laws. Cops sheltered behind shrubbery or buildings and timed cars with stopwatches.

twin gods of Smooth Traffic and Ample Parking—have turned our downtowns into places that are easy to get to but not worth arriving at.

widening a city's streets in the name of safety is like distributing handguns to deter crime. Just

Nobody likes congestion, and, despite appearances, I am not arguing here for more of it. Rather, I am asking that it be better understood by those who build and rebuild our communities, so that we can stop making stupid decisions that placate angry citizens while only hurting them in the long run.

The Carthage traffic cop has an alligator in his bathtub!

Traffic with the world is laid upon us for chastening, and for the testing of our vocation. The grace of God is not endangered by the follies or the wickedness of men.

Do I wear a helmet? Ugh. I do when I'm riding through a precarious part of town, meaning Midtown traffic. But when I'm riding on secure protected lanes or on the paths that run along the Hudson or through Central Park - no, I don't wear the dreaded helmet then.