Lane Meyer Quotes

I can't always be Lois Lane," I insisted. "I want to be Superman, too.

I could say this for Arizona: The sun might be ridiculous, but the freeways were exceptional. Six wade, smooth lanes, with shoulders ample enough on either side that it was as good as eight. I used the left shoulder now to streak by two pickups who thought they belonged in the fast lane.

But it seems logical... a man and a woman have to be somewhat equal... as in, one of them can’t always be swooping in and saving the other one. They have to save each other equally. .... I can’t always be Lois Lane,” I insisted. “ I want to be Superman, too.

Ahead of them lay an expressway access road. Except that there were no guardrails or markings. No road signs either. And no other vehicles at all. Yet the road, following a narrow curve, led to a broad ribbon of asphalt tracing a straight line all the way to the horizon. Again, it had no lines painted on it and there were no signs. Rosa thought there would have been space for four traffic lanes on it, but it was covered with the dust and loose soil that had blown over it. No other sign of life. Just the two of them, the car, and a forgotten road to nowhere. “Where does it go?” “To the end of the world.

I can’t always be Lois Lane,” I insisted. “I want to be Superman, too.

I can't always be Lois Lane, I want to be Superman, too

Eventually, traffic thinned enough to jockey back onto the highway. Meyer kept going, always staying in the right lane and keeping an eye on the berm to keep a lane of escape available. But luck stuck to them, and once past the outermost of Chicago’s sprawl, roads became rural. Lila’s father handed the paper maps to Piper, who proved an adept navigator. She led them onto forgotten roads, reasoning that the more they avoided people, the better. The gas gauge was the only barometer in need of watching, and until it started to creep down near a quarter, they’d stay out in the backwoods, pretending humanity was already gone.

You―” he starts. “Are an absolutely devastating, lethal little creature, Jane Meyer. I can’t stop looking at you.

I can’t always be Lois Lane,” she warned me. “I want to be Superman, too.

Psychologists and mental health professionals are now talking about an epidemic of the modern world: “hurry sickness.” As in, they label it a disease. Here’s one definition: A behavior pattern characterized by continual rushing and anxiousness. Here’s another: A malaise in which a person feels chronically short of time, and so tends to perform every task faster and to get flustered when encountering any kind of delay.2 Meyer Friedman—the cardiologist who rose to fame for theorizing that type A people who are chronically angry and in a hurry are more prone to heart attacks—defined it thus: A continuous struggle and unremitting attempt to accomplish or achieve more and more things or participate in more and more events in less and less time.3 Friedman was the one who originally coined the phrase hurry sickness after noticing that most of his at-risk cardiovascular patients displayed a harrying “sense of time urgency.”4 And—deep breath—he said that in the ’50s. Cough, cough. Awkward silence. Ahem… How do you know if you have this up-and-coming disease? It’s fairly straightforward. Rosemary Sword and Philip Zimbardo, authors of The Time Cure, offer these symptoms of hurry sickness: Moving from one check-out line to another because it looks shorter/faster. Counting the cars in front of you and either getting in the lane that has the least or is going the fastest. Multi-tasking to the point of forgetting one of the tasks.5 Anybody? You feeling this? Not to play armchair psychologist, but I’m pretty sure we all have hurry sickness. And hurry is a form of violence on the soul.