Clark Kent Quotes

I never understood why Clark Kent was so hell bent on keeping Lois Lane in the dark.

Bill: Superman didn't become Superman. Superman was born Superman. When Superman wakes up in the morning, he's Superman. His alter ego is Clark Kent. His outfit with the big red "S", that's the blanket he was wrapped in as a baby when the Kents found him. Those are his clothes. What Kent wears - the glasses, the business suit - that's the costume. That's the costume Superman wears to blend in with us. Clark Kent is how Superman views us. And what are the characteristics of Clark Kent. He's weak... he's unsure of himself... he's a coward. Clark Kent is Superman's critique on the whole human race.

You're not the ugly one. Levi Grinned. You're just the Clark Kent... ... Will you warn me when you take off your glasses?

..you wanted to be the Superman who was never Clark Kent

A prayerless Christian is like a bus driver trying alone to push his bus out of a rut because he doesn't know Clark Kent is on board.

For me, Superman's greatest contribution has never been the superhero part: it's the Clark Kent part - the idea that any of us, in all our ordinariness, can change the world.

In this lifetime we are like Superman who must remain disguised as the nerdy newspaper journalist Clark Kent, or Harry Potter and his friends who are not allowed to do magic while they are on holiday, away from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry... but even Harry Potter and Clark Kent get to tap into their ‘special powers’ once in a while, especially when the going gets tough.

Superman didn’t become Superman. Superman was born Superman. When Superman wakes up in the morning, he’s Superman. His alter ego is Clark Kent. Clark Kent is how Superman views us. And what are the characteristics of Clark Kent? He’s weak... he’s unsure of himself... he’s a coward. Clark Kent is Superman’s critique on the whole human race.

Last but not least, she put on a pair of black-framed reading glasses she’d found on Mr. Mercer’s bedside table. If it worked for Clark Kent, it’d work for her.

Introverts are actually a lot like Clark Kent-- mild and unassuming much of the time, but able to swoop in and turn on our Supercharm when we choose.

You were the one they used against us, Bruce. The one who played it rough. When the noise started from the parents' groups and the sub-committee called us for questioning... you were the one who laughed... that scary laugh of yours. "Sure, we're criminals", you said. "We've always been criminals". "We have to be criminals".--Kal-El aka Clark Kent aka Superman

Some days you're Superman, some days you're Clark Kent.

As soon as the door closed, Levi popped his eyes again. Bluely. "That's your twin sister?" "Identical," Reagan said, like she had a mouth full of hair. Cath nodded and sat down at her desk. "Wow." Levi scooted down the bed so he was sitting across from her. "I'm not sure what you're getting at," Cath said, "but I think it's offensive." "How can the fact that your identical twin sister is super hot be offensive to you?" "Because," Cath said, still too encouraged by Wren and, weirdly, by Abel, and maybe even by Nick to let this get to her right now. "It makes me feel like the Ugly One." "You're not the ugly one." Levi grinned. "You're just the Clark Kent." Cath started checking her e-mail. "Hey, Cath," Levi said, kicking her chair. She could hear the teasing in his voice. "Will you warn me when you take off your glasses?

He was wearing glasses. Who was he, Clark Kent? No one looked this good all the time. It just wasn’t possible.

My mom once told me that my dad had given me an alliterative name, Wade Watts, because he thought it sounded like the secret identity of a superhero. Like Peter Parker or Clark Kent.

All superheroes had pretty much the same problem. Batman was flash and sexy compared to Bruce Wayne and even Robin was a lot cooler than Dick Grayson. As for Superman, well. It was a fucking miracle that Clark Kent had never committed suicide.

Courage doesn't mean never being afraid. We're all afraid sometimes. Bravery means doing the right thing anyway. That's true strength.

Claude Pistal is a creep! He is lucky I'm reasonably mild-mannered like Clark Kent.

I came to, looking as together as one of Phil Spector’s hairdos. I felt like Clark Kent after a hard night on the kryptonite. I opened one eye. The morning sunlight slatted its way through the wooden shutters. The bed was strewn with naked bodies. A one-hundred-dollar bill was fluttering in the breeze, poised as it was, between a groupie’s buttocks. Even more concerning, a five-hundred-dollar bill was fluttering between mine.

Clark Kent doesn’t want to be famous. He doesn’t want people to look at him. If they really look at him, they’d see that he’s just Superman with glasses.

From: Beth Fremont To: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder Sent: Thurs, 09/30/1999 3:42 PM Subject: If you were Superman … … and you could choose any alter ego you wanted, why the hell would you choose to spend your Clark Kent hours — which already suck because you have to wear glasses and you can’t fly — at a newspaper? Why not pose as a wealthy playboy like Batman? Or the leader of a small but important nation like Black Panther? Why would you choose to spend your days on deadline, making crap money, dealing with terminally crabby editors?

Well," Mr. Cheeseman interjected. "Perhaps there's an easy solution to this. Maybe Captain Fabulous has an alter ego." "What's an alter ego?" asked Gerard. "It's a superhero's true but secret identity," said Chip. "You know, the way that Superman is really Clark Kent." "Superman is really Clark Kent?" "It's pretty obvious," said Penny. "To everyone but you and Lois Lane." "Okay," Gerard conceded. "Captain Fabulous's alter ego will be...Teddy Roosevelt.

Put me down. This isn’t funny.” My feet make little ineffectual spirals. This isn’t the first time a big kid’s thrown his weight around with me. Marcus DuShay in third grade once slung me onto the hood of the principal’s car and ran off laughing. The plight of the little humans. There is no dignity for us in this oversize world. “Visit me up here for a sec.” “What on earth for?” I try to slide down but he spans his hands on my waist and presses me against the wall. I squeeze his shoulders until I come to the informed conclusion that his body is extravagant muscle under these Clark Kent shirts. “Holy shit.” His collarbone is like a crowbar under my palms. I say the only idiotic thing I can think of. “Muscles. Bones.” “Thanks.

Clark. Superman. She loved two men. It was extraordinary how alike and how different they were.-Lois Lane

Lois. Oh… no. Lois. Dinner. His name … be it Clark Kent or Superman …was mud. –Clark Kent

Maybe when he takes off his Clark Kent glasses and rips open the shirt, he’s ‘Super-Disappointment.’ Slower than a speeding bullet, nowhere near as powerful as a locomotive, able to deliver a less than satisfying sexual experience in a single thrust.

It'll be like Clark Kent and Superman,” said Chastity. “Only in this case, Superman really loves dick. #NotHisKryptonite." "And now you're making it weird." "Okay, okay. Fine. Superman is only moderately interested in dick.

Flying was no cure for want of sleep. The brain wanted time to recycle: when it became all one long, uninterrupted day, the ability to keep going and to keep thinking was no warrant it was healty even for Superman.-Superman

You’re not the ugly one.” Levi grinned. “You’re just the Clark Kent.

Clark Kent and Superman

She'd looked at the stubble along his jawline, and the thought had crossed her mind: He looks like Clark Kent, but maybe he's really Superman.

Clark Kent gives up his powers just to have sexual intercourse with Lois Lane in a glittery bed. Who’d make such a stupid swap? If you could fly? Deflect nuclear missiles into space? Turn back time by spinning the planet in reverse? Sexual intercourse can’t be that good.

I'm not Lois Lane and you are neither Superman nor Clark Kent," she fired back. "It's crazy for you to go anywhere in this condition, and if you had the sense God gave a rock, you'd stay put." Gabe stopped in his tracks. "Did you just compare me to a rock?" She snorted. "I have the utmost respect for rocks. They're hard, they're heavy. They make good paperweights.

I have no idea why you have this impulse to fly in with your red cape like a nerdy Clark Kent and save the day, but no, thanks. You might look a little like him, but I’m not a damsel in distress.

You have that whole Superman thing going on with your glasses.'' I said, pointing at my own face. He tilted his head and gave me a confuse look. Shit. I was so dumb. I'd have been better off letting the staring continue. ''I mean, like, because Superman wears glasses.'' ''You mean Clark Kent.'' ''Um...'' Now it was my turn to be confused. ''Clark Kent wears the glasses and when he takes them off he's Superman.'' ''Duh.'' I said with self-deprecating laugh. ''I'm more of a Marvel girl.'' ''That's a good choice. Marvel is better than DC any day.

You're not the ugly one." Levi grinned. "You're just the Clark Kent." Cath started checking her e-mail. "Hey, Cath," Levi said, kicking her chair. She could hear the teasing in his voice. "Will you warn me when you take off your glasses?

Sometimes, if you have faith in people they'll surprise you. Mom and Dad taught me that. Risk is the price of believing most people want to be good.

The man shrank. It was funny, but people never seemed to notice at first glance how big. Henry was. Maybe it was because of his clothes, which were like one of those lame but curiously impenetrable disguises from a comic book (why does no one ever see that 'bookish' Clark Kent, without his glasses, is Superman?). Or maybe it was a question of his making people see. He had the far more remarkable talent of making himself invisible: in a room, in a car, a virtual ability to dematerialize at will – and perhaps this gift was only the converse of that one: the sudden concentration of his wandering molecules rendering his shadowy form solid, all at once, a metamorphosis startling to the viewer.

Well, I’m still not convinced you’re actually people, honey.” “I’m a superior mutation?” He seemed eager to embrace the possibility. “I was thinking more like an alien or a pod person. But sure.” “Superman was an alien. I could live with that.” I shrugged. “I always preferred Clark Kent.” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “I always suspected that Clark Kent was the real personality, and—” “Superman was the disguise,” I chimed in. “Exactly. Lois was such a fool.

Life isn’t just about defying death,” Raj says, his voice coming through the speakers on either side of the television. “It’s also about defying yourself, about insisting on transformation. As long as you can transform, my friends, you cannot die. What does Clark Kent have in common with the chameleon? Right when they’re on the brink of destruction, they change. Where have they gone? Nowhere we can see. The chameleon has become a branch. Clark Kent has become Superman.

Life isn’t just about defying death,’ Raj says, his voice coming through the speakers on either side of the television. ‘It’s also about defying yourself, about insisting on transformation. As long as you can transform, my friends, you cannot die. What does Clark Kent have in common with the chameleon? Right when they’re on the brink of destruction, they change. Where have they gone? Nowhere we can see. The chameleon has become a branch. Clark Kent has become Superman.

It figured my family would get along better with Clark than they did me.

He listens when I talk.

What killed me is you didn’t even want it. You fought it, you hid from it. I would have taken it and relished it and embraced it.

Yo... no quiero ser ningún otro. No quiero ser diferente. Quiero ser Clark Kent. Quiero ser tu hijo.

Aaron Blackford, scowling Clark Kent look-alike, was in my office. Helping me and feeding me homemade snacks, and I was glad. Thankful even.

He looks like a cross between Clark Kent and some Marvel superhero but in gray joggers and a hoodie.

As Clark Kent I take care of misunderstood young geniuses; as Superman I punish justly misunderstood old geniuses. I

You're not the ugly one... you're just the Clark Kent.

In all those movies, how does Lois fail to see that Clark Kent is really superman? I mean, his disguise is a pair of glasses.

I think I’m going to take it as a compliment,” he said as one of the corners of his lips bent up just the tiniest little bit. Smug Clark Kent look-alike. “Well, it’s not.” I reached for my mouse, clicking to open a random folder. “Thor or Captain America? That would have been a compliment. But you are not a Chris. Plus, no one cares about Superman anymore, Mr. Kent.

They're all Jewish, superheroes. Superman, you don't think he's Jewish? Coming over from the old country, changing his name like that. Clark Kent, only a Jew would pick a name like that for himself.

Without Clare I would have given up a long time ago,” I say. “I never understood why Clark Kent was so hell bent on keeping Lois Lane in the dark.” “It makes a better story,” says Matt. “Does it? I don’t know,” I reply.

Your organization tried to keep this location top secret, but I’m a journalist, doll, an investigative reporter. Took Lois Lane a while to figure out the correlation between Clark Kent and Superman, but I’m a hundred times sharper than her.

In my sleep, Clark Kent arrives on the planet alone and falls into endless wealth, and across the country, a young Bruce Wayne is adopted by sweet, midwestern parents. There is no Batman, but there is still a Superman, a deadened Übermensch who imposes his idea of purity onto the earth.

Any relationship founded on lies is destined to fail. It’s a good thing we don’t have that problem.

Clark Kent, aka Superman, is to leave his reporting job in the forthcoming issue of the comic. Initially I assumed he was protesting against all the nasty commenters on the Daily Planet website: the thousands calling him an arsehole without having paid for the paper, or complaining that he only got to save the world because of his posh upbringing on Krypton.

We all have something we think we need to hide. It's hard, but it does get better.

Clark, your gifts are . . . well they're part of you but they don't define you.

Lois, Superman is what I can do. Clark is who I am.

In my own life, I must confess that I had never felt “manly” until I got married. I was a nerd before it was fashionable, playing trumpet in the marching band and staying in the Boy Scouts through high school. Good things, no doubt, but not cool or macho. I was often mocked and excluded, especially during high school, for my uncoolness. But Kathy looked at me like her knight in shining armor. She has always told me, and continues to tell me, that though all the world may look at me and see Clark Kent, she knows that underneath I have on blue underwear. She has always been very quick to point out and celebrate anything I have done that is courageous. Over the years, bit by bit, it has sunk in. To my wife, I’m Superman, and it makes me feel like a man in a way nothing else could.

Suit Guy takes the seat beside me and turns to me with a smile on his face. I take in that face for the first time and— Holy effing shit! Hotness incarnate is sitting next to me. Actual pure male hotness. All men should have been made to look like this. Seriously. He looks like Clark Kent without the glasses, which would mean he looks like Superman—the Henry Cavill version. Superman in a suit. Lord, help me.

All my father ever told me was “don’t get caught” and “don’t cause a scandal.” That’s not love, it’s public relations. You have no idea how lucky you are. When my father dies, kings will come to his funeral but when yours does, his friends will come.

In Superman number one, published in 1939, Clark and Lois Lane travel to a thinly disguised Nazi Germany, where Lois ends up in front of a firing squad, until Superman rescues her. In Superman number two, also from 1939, Clark Kent visits faux Germany again and meets Adolphus Runyan, a scientist clearly modeled on Adolf Hitler, who has discovered a gas so powerful “it is capable of penetrating any type of gas-mask.” The front cover of Captain Americanumber one, published in March 1941, shows the hero smashing Hitler across the face.

Newton Pulsifer had never had a cause in his life. Nor had he, as far as he knew, ever believed in anything. It had been embarrassing, because he quite wanted to believe in something, since he recognized that belief was the lifebelt that got most people through the choppy waters of Life. He’d have liked to believe in a supreme God, although he’d have preferred a half-hour’s chat with Him before committing himself, to clear up one or two points. He’d sat in all sorts of churches, waiting for that single flash of blue light, and it hadn’t come. And then he’d tried to become an official Atheist and hadn’t got the rock-hard, self-satisfied strength of belief even for that. And every single political party had seemed to him equally dishonest. And he’d given up on ecology when the ecology magazine he’d been subscribing to had shown its readers a plan of a self-sufficient garden, and had drawn the ecological goat tethered within three feet of the ecological beehive. Newt had spent a lot of time at his grandmother’s house in the country and thought he knew something about the habits of both goats and bees, and concluded therefore that the magazine was run by a bunch of bib-overalled maniacs. Besides, it used the word “community” too often; Newt had always suspected that people who regularly used the word “community” were using it in a very specific sense that excluded him and everyone he knew. Then he’d tried believing in the Universe, which seemed sound enough until he’d innocently started reading new books with words like Chaos and Time and Quantum in the titles. He’d found that even the people whose job of work was, so to speak, the Universe, didn’t really believe in it and were actually quite proud of not knowing what it really was or even if it could theoretically exist. To Newt’s straightforward mind this was intolerable. Newt had not believed in the Cub Scouts and then, when he was old enough, not in the Scouts either. He was prepared to believe, though, that the job of wages clerk at United Holdings [Holdings] PLC, was possibly the most boring in the world. This is how Newton Pulsifer looked as a man: if he went into a phone booth and changed, he might manage to come out looking like Clark Kent.

It is a little-known but significant fact that no president has appeared more times in Superman comic books than JFK. He was even entrusted with Superman's secret identity and once pretended to be Clark Kent so as to prevent it from being exposed. When Supergirl debuted as a character, she was formally presented to the Kennedys. (Not surprisingly, the president took an immediate liking to her.) In a special issue dedicated to getting American youth to become physically fit — just like the astronaut 'Colonel Glenn' — Kennedy enlists Superman on a mission to close 'the muscle gap'.

Writing, to me, is the meaning of life. My life became something special because of writing. My desk is for me what the phone booth is for Clark Kent: Here I become Superman. I can do anything I want when I’m writing. I’m not afraid anymore. I can take anything from my imagination. I can save the world when I’m writing. But as soon as I leave the desk, I become Clark Kent again. Trust me, I am the most ordinary person in the world. I’m a good husband, I don’t yell at anyone, never lose it. But I don’t have a single idea for my literature in everyday life. When I run, cook or relax on the beach, there is absolutely nothing on my mind.

I’m the only sane inmate of Asylum Earth. I’m not eager to hand tomorrow over to an interplanetary extremist with laser eyes. There’s only room on this world for one leader, Superman. When I’m finished with you, every last gibbon out there will know you for the menace you are… and they’ll realize that Lex Luthor is their savior.

The man shrank. It was funny, but people never seemed to notice at first glance how big Henry was. Maybe it was because of his clothes, which were like one of those lame but curiously impenetrable disguises from a comic book (why does no one ever see that “bookish” Clark Kent, without his glasses, is Superman?). Or maybe it was a question of his making people see. He had the far more remarkable talent of making himself invisible—in a room, in a car, a virtual ability to dematerialize at will—and perhaps this gift was only the converse of that one: the sudden concentration of his wandering molecules rendering his shadowy form solid, all at once, a metamorphosis startling to the viewer.

Mas, apesar desta ênfase extremada no combate ao crime, a lição que [os livros de quadradinhos] davam às crianças - ou a esta criança, pelo menos - era a talvez involuntária verdade radical de que a excepcionalidade é o maior e mais heróico dos valores; que aqueles que eram diferentes da multidão deviam ser os mais amorosamente acarinhados; e que esta excepcionalidade era um tesouro tão grande e tão facilmente incompreendido que tinha de ser escondido, na vida normal, por detrás daquilo a que nos quadradinhos se chamava de "identidade secreta". O Super-Homem não teria sobrevivido sem o "irrelevante" Clark Kent; o "milionário do jet-set Bruce Wayne tornou possíveis as actividades nocturnas de Batman.

If only something would happen. Something being the revelation that transfigures existence; works a miraculous presto-chango upon the mundane mortal world - turning the toads and cockroaches back into handsome princes, the Clark Kents into Superman - that calls unexpectedly up on the phone and says: "your name has just been picked from a hat, like a rabbit, and we're giving you a million dollars", - or that announces in a sudden telegram: "Congratulations! Lady Rockerfeller has just died and left you several estates and an enchanted sources of continual private income". But instead, day after day, there are hardboiled eggs instead of frogs legs for breakfast, and doubts and worries buzz and sting like the evils in Pandora's box.

Are you really going to carry me up those stairs?" "Yeah." Gennie cast a look at the winding staircase and tightened her hold. "I'd just like to mention it wouldn't be terribly romantic if you were to trip and drop me." "The woman casts aspersions on my machismo." "On your balance," she corrected as he started up. She shivered as her wet skin began to chill, then abruptly laughed. “Grant, did it occur to you what those assorted pile of clothes would look like if someone happened by?” “They’d probably look a great deal like what they are,” he considered. “And it should discourage anyone from trespassing. I should have thought of it before-much better than a killer-dog sign.” She sighed, partially from relief as they reached the landing. “You’re hopeless. Anyone would think you were Clark Kent.” Grant stopped in the doorway to the bathroom to stare at her. “Come again?” “You know, concealing a secret identity. Though you’re anything but mild-mannered,” she added as she toyed with a damp curl that hung over his ear. “You’ve set up this lighthouse as some kind of Fortress of Solitude.” The long intense look continued. “What was Clark Kent’s Earth mother’s name?” “Is this a quiz?” “Do you know?” She arched a brow because his eyes were suddenly serious. “Martha.” “I’ll be damned,” he murmured. He laughed, then gave her a quick kiss that was puzzlingly friendly considering they were naked and pressed together. “You continue to surprise me, Genvieve. I think I’m crazy about you.

Our people were divided in opinion about these men. Some thought they taught more bad than good. An Indian respects a brave man, but he despises a coward. He loves a straight tongue, but he hates a forked tongue. The French trappers told us some truths and some lies. The first white men of your people who came to our country were named Lewis and Clark. They also brought many things that our people had never seen. They talked straight, and our people gave them a great feast as a proof that their hearts were friendly. These

<> Más o menos. O sea, entiendo por qué Lois Lane se matriculó en la facultad de periodismo. Conozco a esa clase de chicas. Quieren cambiar las cosas, sacar conspiraciones a la luz. Es entrometida. Pero Clark Kent... ¿Por qué no elige ser Clark Kent, ese hombre del tiempo tan sexy? ¿O Clark Kent, alcalde de Cincinnati? <> ¿No te enteras o qué? Clark Kent no quiere ser famoso. No quiere que la gente se fije en él. Si lo miraran con atención, se darían cuenta de que es idéntico a Superman, pero con gafas. Además, tiene que estar en la redacción de un periódico o algo parecido para ser el primero en enterarse de las noticias. Imagínate que leyera «Joker ataca la Luna» en el diario del día siguiente. <> Tienes toda la razón. Sobre todo para ser alguien que no sabe que Superman nunca se ha enfrentado al Joker. <> Sobre todo para ser alguien que pasa mucho. Espero que te equivoques cuando dices que la vida es un asco solo por llevar gafas y no ser capaz de volar. Esa descripción se aplica a todos los que estamos en esta sala. ¿En qué estás trabajando? <> Todos llevamos gafas. Qué inquietante. En otro artículo del Indian Hills. Más que trabajar, estoy esperando a que suene el teléfono. Por lo que parece, el hospital contiguo al cine ya ha comprado el terreno. Hace meses. Lo van a convertir en un aparcamiento. Estoy esperando a que la portavoz del hospital me llame y me diga: «No hay comentarios». Entonces escribiré: «Los directivos del hospital declinan hacer comentarios en relación a la venta». Y me iré a casa. ¿Sabes lo aburrido que es esperar a que alguien te llame para, oficialmente, no decirte nada? No creo que Superman lo soportase. Estaría por ahí, buscando boy scouts perdidos y tapando volcanes con rocas gigantescas. <> Superman trabaja en un diario para ligarse a Lois Lane. <> Seguro que gana el doble que ella.

These men were very kind. They made presents to our chiefs and our people made presents to them. We had a great many horses, of which we gave them what they needed, and they gave us guns and tobacco in return. All the Nez Perce made friends with Lewis and Clark, and agreed to let them pass through their country, and never to make war on white men. This promise the Nez Perce have never broken. No white man can accuse them of bad faith and speak with a straight tongue. It has always been the pride of the Nez Perce that they were the friends of the white men. When my father was a young man there came to our country a white man [Rev. Henry H. Spaulding] who talked spirit law. He won the affections of our people because he spoke good things to them. At first he did not say anything about white men wanting to settle on our lands. Nothing was said about that until about twenty winters ago, when a number of white people came into our country and built houses and made farms. At first our people made no complaint. They thought there was room

[the Kent farm was repossessed, but Clark gets it back] Clark Kent: How did you get the house from the bank? Bruce Wayne: I bought the bank. All of it.

No names. I didn’t know people. I grabbed whatever characteristics I could: crooked or fluorescent teeth, tattoos, accents, lipsticks, I even recognized some people by their gait. It’s not that my trailers were withholding information. I was just so stupid that I couldn’t learn table numbers and names at the same time….Everyone had been there years. There were senior servers who would never leave. Debutante-Smile, Guy-with-Clark-Kent-Glasses, Guy-with-Long-Hair-and-Bun, Overweight-Gray-Hair-Guy. Even the backwaiters had been there at least three years. There was Mean-Girl, and Russian-Pouty-Lips, and my first trailer, whom I called Sergeant because of the way he ordered me around.

How come Clark Kent is only allowed to see his children with super vision?

We’re happy to do it, aren’t we, Peter?” Mom said. She squeezed my shoulder again. “Yup. Soooo happy,” I said, forcing myself to smile.

Bob and I are going to keep in touch.” “EATING BUGS?!

FREEZE!” I shouted. But when I aimed, nothing happened. In the heat of battle, I sort of forgot I had lost my powers five minutes ago. All the Sky Pirates started laughing. One of them laughed so hard he cried. “Poor little

I want you to remember something. When Superman summons every ounce of his strength to survive something others can’t even imagine, he’s the same person he was when he crumpled to his knees, left helpless by Kryptonite. He’s the same person he was when he was Clark Kent, just living day by day, invisible to the world. Superman’s the sum of all his moments. And so am I.

Quando eu ouvi a estória de Noé, eu jurava que ele era o herói, similar à chinesa, de um homem defendendo a humanidade de um Deus covarde. Eu mantive essa visão positiva de Noé até iniciar meus estudos que gerou esse livro. Um dia comecei a pesquisar, pensando em Noé como o herói da estória e fiquei sem entender nada: Noé ficou do lado de Deus. Isso nunca daria um filme de Hollywood. Superman abriu mão de sua família para defender a terra. Em um dos filmes, Superman quebra o pescoço do general Zod que queria testar até que ponto Clark Kent (Kalenji) iria com sua fidelidade ao humanos. Ao se incapaz de parar o raio mortal do general Zod, ele toma a decisão de matar o general, que era sua única família de verdade. Esse tipo de problema aparece na filosofia, e tem sido inclusive fruto de experimentos. Como exemplo, um experimento famoso, pessoas precisam decidir se desencarrilham um trem matando todos no trem para salvar uma pessoa no trilho. O experimento evolve dois cenários: um com uma pessoa com nome similar à pessoa que decide, e outro com nome de alguma nação historicamente inimiga. Eles até acham um hormônio expressado no momento da decisão, seria “o hormônio da camaradagem”.

Mai found me in our apartment hours after the magistrates dismissed me. I was curled up on our old brocade couch wearing Eeyore pajamas with a melting pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy on my lap. She walked through the door as episode fourteen in season eight of Supernatural ended, just in time to catch me wiping drool off my chin from watching Dean slide on his Clark Kent-style glasses. Life didn’t get better than this. How had I forgotten Netflix was my soul mate?

One of the misconceptions in minor hockey is a belief that players have to get on “big city” teams as young as possible to gain exposure when being identified by major junior clubs. For example, the Greater Toronto Hockey League (GTHL) has long been considered a strong breeding ground, with three or four elite AAA teams each year producing some of the top players for the OHL draft. However, on the list of players from Ontario since 1975 who have made the NHL, only 16.8 percent of those players came from GTHL programs while the league itself represents approximately 20 percent of the registered players in the province—that means the league has a per capita development rate of about –3 percent. What the research found was that players from other Ontario minor hockey leagues who elevated to the NHL actually had an edge in terms of career advancement on their GTHL counterparts by the age of nineteen. Each year several small-town Ontario parents, some with players as young as age eight, believe it’s necessary to get their kids on a GTHL superclub such as the Marlboros, Red Wings, or Jr. Canadiens. However, just twenty-one GTHL “import” players since 1997 have played a game in the NHL in the last fifteen years. This pretty much indicates that regardless of where he plays his minor hockey from the ages of eight through sixteen, a player eventually develops no matter how strong his team is as a peewee or bantam. An excellent example comes from the Ontario players born in 1990, which featured a powerhouse team in the Markham Waxers of the OMHA’s Eastern AAA League. The Waxers captured the prestigious OHL Cup and lost a grand total of two games in eight years. In 2005–06, when they were in minor midget (age fifteen), they compiled a record of 64-1-2. The Waxers had three future NHL draft picks on their roster in Steven Stamkos (Tampa Bay), Michael Del Zotto (New York Rangers), and Cameron Gaunce (Colorado). One Waxers nemesis in the 1990 age group was the Toronto Jr. Canadiens of the GTHL. The Jr. Canadiens were also a perennial powerhouse team and battled the Waxers on a regular basis in major tournaments and provincial championships over a seven-year period. Like the Waxers, the Jr. Canadiens team also had three future NHL draft picks in Alex Pietrangelo (St. Louis), Josh Brittain (Anaheim), and Stefan Della Rovere (Washington). In the same 1990 age group, a “middle of the pack” team was the Halton Hills Hurricanes (based west of Toronto in Milton). This club played in the OMHA’s South Central AAA League and periodically competed with some of the top teams. Over a seven-year span, they were marginally over the .500 mark from novice to minor midget. That Halton Hills team produced two future NHL draft picks in Mat Clark (Anaheim) and Jeremy Price (Vancouver). Finally, the worst AAA team in the 1990 group every year was the Chatham-Kent Cyclones—a club that averaged about five wins a season playing in the Pavilion League in Southwestern Ontario. Incredibly, the lowly Cyclones also had two future NHL draft picks in T.J. Brodie (Calgary) and Jason Missiaen (Montreal). It’s a testament that regardless of where they play their minor hockey, talented players will develop at their own pace and eventually rise to the top. You don’t need to be on an 85-5-1 big-city superclub to develop or get noticed.

I only want you.” She took another step, now only a breath between us which felt like nothing when she gave me a shy smile. “I want Clark Kent. I want the man adorably in love with the stars.” Another step until her breasts pressed to my chest and I pulled in a ragged breath, my cock twitching behind my slacks. “I want the man who looks at me like I’m more than any of those stars.

I pulled back and looked up at him, the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. My Clark Kent. “I love you too, Callum. So much.

He looks like Clark Kent crossed with an Abercrombie model. And he looks like he wants to murder me.

made the tiny cleft in my chin seem feminine and less like Clark Kent’s. Without it, my resting bitchface would be boosted to epic proportions, intense enough to make people jump ship in a raging storm to escape me. I

He’s smart, wears glasses, and has the body of Michael Phelps? So, he’s basically an aquatic Clark Kent?

We used teamwork, though,” Gavin said. His eyes became

I once tweeted something silly in a state of anxiety. “Anxiety is my superpower,” I said. I didn’t mean anxiety was a good thing. I meant that anxiety was ridiculously intense, that we people who have an excess of it walk through life like an anxious Clark Kent or a tormented Bruce Wayne knowing the secret of who we are. And that it can be a burden of racing uncontrollable thoughts and despair but one, just occasionally, that we can convince ourselves has a silver lining.

I once tweeted something silly in a state of anxiety. “Anxiety is my superpower,” I said. I didn’t mean anxiety was a good thing. I meant that anxiety was ridiculously intense, that we people who have an excess of it walk through life like an anxious Clark Kent or a tormented Bruce Wayne knowing the secret of who we are. And that it can be a burden of racing uncontrollable thoughts and despair but one, just occasionally, that we can convince ourselves has a silver lining. For instance, personally I am thankful that it forced me to stop smoking, to get physically healthy, that it made me work out what was good for me, and who cared for me and who didn’t. I am thankful that it led me to trying to help some other people who experience it, and I am thankful that it led me—during good patches—to feel life more intensely.

Clark, love isn’t about playing it safe, it’s about risks. Unless you’re willing to put yourself out there, you’ll never know.

I get that now which is why I’ve finally embraced my own. You and I, we will both be great men because of each other. We have a destiny together Clark, only on different sides.

He had been accompanied by his father and the family solicitor who, between them, had made the boy sound so mild mannered that it made Clark Kent sound like Rambo.

One of the biggest surprises of my adult life is how unethical reporters are. In movies they’re always the good guys. “In movies they’re always the good guys.” Indeed! If you think about it, superheros are literally portrayed as journalists (that’s the day job of both Clark Kent and Peter Parker), and journalists are likewise portrayed as superheros (see movies like Spotlight and The Post). The Intrepid Reporter is as much of a stock character as the Evil Corporation.70 You don’t hear much about the evil reporter, though. You don’t hear much about the evil communist, either.

Someone kind,' she says, 'of course. Someone who can let you shine. Someone who is cozy and warm. Someone who will look after you. He'd have brown hair, be a little dorky, but in that handsome way, you know. Clark Kent and all that. Maybe glasses.' She pauses. 'Someone who thinks he won the lottery, because he did.

Je laisse courir mes ongles de son épaule à son coude et amène son bras sur ma taille. Je veux sentir le biceps de Clark Kent bander sur ma hanche. Le corps de Matt me laisse toujours aussi rêveuse. Au fond, j’ai les mêmes envies que toutes les femmes... ce qui est plutôt rassurant.

Lois Lane was part of the Superman dynamic from the very start. The intrepid star newspaper reporter had made her first appearance in 1938’s Action Comics #1, the same issue where Superman made his debut. She was infatuated with the powerful, godlike Superman, while repulsed by his meek pantywaist alter ego, her rival reporter Clark Kent. Lois’ 1940s persona of tough crusading reporter was in the mold of Hollywood dames like Rosalind Russell. Lois’ tireless effort to get her next headline, along with her impulsive personality, often put her in danger, from which Superman would have to rescue her. But the 40s Lois was no pushover. She was a modern career woman, and her dream was to get her greatest scoop: Superman’s secret identity. The Superman/Lois Lane relationship had many complicated factors that would prevent a romance from ever reaching fruition, while still providing the right tension to sustain the relationship for decades. First off, they were literally from different worlds. Superman was the last survivor of the doomed planet Krypton, and was raised by simple midwestern farm folk. Lois Lane was very much a woman of 20th century America: emancipated, headstrong, and unwilling to take “no” for an answer. Superman’s timid farm boy Clark Kent persona crumbled before Lois’ ferocious, emasculating temperament, while his heroic Man of Steel found himself constantly confounded by her impetuous nature. Meanwhile, the very issue of Superman’s secret identity always threw a wrench into his romance with Lois. Besides the basic duplicity, Superman becomes his own rival, squelching any chance for a healthy relationship. Superman loves Lois Lane, but tries to win her heart as meek Clark Kent, with the rationale that he wants to be sure Lois really loves him for himself, not for his glamorous superhuman persona. But since he’s created a wallflower persona that Lois will never find attractive, he sabotages any chance for love. Lois, for her part, is enamored with Superman, yet has a burning desire to discover his secret identity. Lois never considers that she risks losing Superman’s love if she learns his secret identity, or that the world may lose its champion and protector. (...) If the Lois Lane of the ’40s owed much to the tough talking heroines of that decade’s screwball comedies, the Lois of the ’50s was defined by the medium of the new era—television.