Superman 2 Quotes

After all, Fnick is Superman," said Iggy. "Shut up, Jeff," I said, but I was smiling. I lifted Iggy's fingers to my face so that he knew.

There are many different types of kisses. There’s a passionate kiss of farewell—like the kind Rhett gave Scarlett when he went off to war. The kiss of I-can’t-really-be-with-you-but-I-want-to-be—like with Superman and Lois Lane. There’s the first kiss—one that is gentle and hesitant, warm and vulnerable. And then there’s the kiss of possession—which was how Ren kissed me now. It went beyond passion, beyond desire. His kiss was full of longing, need, and love, like all those other kisses. But, it was also filled with promises and pledges, some of which seemed sweet and tender while others seemed dangerous and exciting. He was taking me over. Staking a claim. He seized me as boldly as the tiger captured his prey. There was no escape. And I didn’t want to. I would have happily died in his clutches. I was his. And he made sure I knew it. My heart burst with a thousand beautiful blooms, all tiger lilies. And I knew with a certainty more powerful than anything I’d ever felt before that we belonged together.

Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman. Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.

Bes had indeed put on his ugly outfit. He climbed onto the roof of the limbo and stood there, legs planted, arms akimbo, like superman-exept with only the underwear. I wasn't sure what to say except: "Put some clothes on!" "These children are under my protection," Bes insisted. "I don't know you," I said, "I never met you before today." "Nonsense. You expressly asked for my attention." "I didn't ask for the Speedo Patrol!

Let’s not get started on their uniforms. Superman’s stretchy spandex has nothing on Batman’s sculpted pecs.” He glared at her. “You cannot bring fashion sense into a superhero discussion!” “If they wear it, it’s fair game.” She folded her arms on the table.

I let out a gasp at the surprise with him getting to me so fast. It was kind of dating superman in that way, and instead of the cape and spandex, I got wings and a Armani suit!

You have given them an ideal to aspire to, embodied their highest aspirations. They will race, and stumble, and fall and crawl....and curse....and finally.... They will join you in the sun, Kal-El. They will stumble, they will fall. But in time, they will join you in the sun. In time you will help them accomplish wonders.

Superman was adopted.

He’s a hero!” I scoffed. “Apparently there’s Batman, Wonder Woman, and Greg Heyward. He’s replacing Superman in the Holy Trinity.

WHAT ARE THE COLORS OF SUPERMAN’S CAPE?

When we consider the fact that the spectroscope has enabled us to make a chemical analysis of the sun, that the telephone has enabled us to hear 2,000 miles and that the x-rays have enabled us to see through flesh and bone, we must admit without reservation, that our power of perception, at some future day, may be infinite. And if we admit this we must admit the essential possibility of the superman.

Yeah,I used to think that you could save me from him. From life. From sadness and pain. But then I realized that no one could. That no one would. There was no Superman waiting to rescue me. I realized that if I was going to survive, I’d have to rescue myself. I couldn’t wait around for anyone else to do it.

I now noticed he had a Superman T-shirt tucked into his jeans; Elijah never was one for subtly.

You really thought my Superman T-shirts were cute?

Superman: No more mercy for cancers posing as men.

She made him feel like superman. Too bad she was his kryptonite.

So are you saying I’m your Superman?” --- Josh Copeland

You both suck,” she groused, then turned to leave. “First time out of the gate and both of you land Superman.

You can scare him, you bet—he’s a retired salesman, not Superman—but if you load enough tension on top of fright you turn it into anger, same as enough pressure turns coal into a diamond.

If I kissed her now, one of two things would happen. We’d either get naked right here on the beach and probably get arrested, or I’d somehow manage to get us up the hill to my house, and then we’d get naked. But kissing her once, then letting her go. That…wasn’t possible. I couldn’t kiss her then go back to my ordinary life. I wasn’t Superman. If I was, though, the girl in my arms was more lethal to me than kryptonite.

You should stop wearing suits.' 'For greater ease of shawarma eating?' Grace chuckled, then took a sip of her fizzy. 'Because they suck the life out of you. It's like cuff links are your Kryptonite.' 'Cuff links keep my sleeves together. Besides, that would make me Superman.' 'Well, then, Superman, you should kiss me.

I really think this is it... Third time lucky. This is the one... ...this is going to change everything.

Whatever regrets may be, we have done our best.

Dead people are infinities of maybes.

Because life must go on. We have to keep up appearances. We can't risk doing anything suspicious. All the greatest superheroes had other identities. They had real, everyday lives to keep them grounded and their sects safe. They had people to lice and fight for in the real world. Superman had Lois Lane. Spider-Man had--" "Mary Jane." "I was going to say Gwen.

And so Nietzsche, inflated by that archetype Zarathustra, was inhuman; a person who is assimilated by such an archetype is necessarily not human. He is a Superman, and how can one have a friendship with a Superman? Absolutely impossible. One can only worship him as a superior being. But I wouldn't drink a glass of beer with a Superman. One cannot eat at the same table; one can only hold communion where he is the lord. Jung, C. G.. Nietzsche's Zarathustra: Notes of the Seminar given in 1934-1939. Two Volumes: 1-2, unabridged (Jung Seminars) (p. 205)

on their target about now. Six on one, overwhelming force, or so they thought. Puller was a first-rate, superbly trained close-quarters fighter. But he was not Superman. This was not a movie where he could Matrix his way to victory. It would be fearful men fighting, making mistakes but certainly landing some blows. Puller tipped the scales at well over two hundred pounds. The men he would be facing tonight collectively weighed about a thousand pounds. They had twelve fists and a dozen legs to his two and two. Six against one, hand-to-hand, no matter how good you were or how inept the six were, would likely result in defeat. Puller could take out three or four rather quickly. But the remaining two or three men would probably get in a lucky shot and possibly knock him down. And then it would be over. Bats and bars would rain down on him and then a gunshot would end it all. If one had a choice—and sometimes one did—a truly superb close-quarters fighter only fought when the conditions favored him. He didn’t have much time, because they would quickly determine that he was not in the room. Then they would do one of two things: leave and come back, or set a trap and wait for him. And a trap would involve a perimeter. At least he was counting on that, because a perimeter meant that the six men would have

Jesus is not Zeus. He was a sinless man, not a sinless Superman. He woke up with bed head. He had pimples at thirteen. He never would have appeared on the cover of Men’s Health (he had “no beauty that we should desire him,” Isa. 53:2). He came as a normal man to normal men. He knows what it is to be thirsty, hungry, despised, rejected, scorned, shamed, embarrassed, abandoned, misunderstood, falsely accused, suffocated, tortured, and killed. He knows what it is to be lonely. His friends abandoned him when he needed them most; had he lived today, every last Twitter follower and Facebook friend would have un-friended him when he turned thirty-three—he who will never un-friend us.

This condition of the crucifixion, then, is a symbolic expression for the state of extreme conflict, where one simply has to give up, where one no longer knows, where one almost loses one's mind. Out of that condition grows the thing which is really fought for. For Nietzsche, it would be the birth of the Superman. We would say it was the birth of the self. Only through extreme pain do you experience yourself; you believe then that you are a unit. Before that, you can imagine that you are anybody, the Pope or Mussolini-you are not necessarily yourself. Afterwards, when you have undergone this extraordinary experience of the self, there are no illusions any longer. Jung, C. G.. Nietzsche's Zarathustra: Notes of the Seminar given in 1934-1939. Two Volumes: 1-2, unabridged (Jung Seminars) (p. 449)

Here’s the thing, people: We have some serious problems. The lights are off. And it seems like that’s affecting the water flow in part of town. So, no baths or showers, okay? But the situation is that we think Caine is short of food, which means he’s not going to be able to hold out very long at the power plant.” “How long?” someone yelled. Sam shook his head. “I don’t know.” “Why can’t you get him to leave?” “Because I can’t, that’s why,” Sam snapped, letting some of his anger show. “Because I’m not Superman, all right? Look, he’s inside the plant. The walls are thick. He has guns, he has Jack, he has Drake, and he has his own powers. I can’t get him out of there without getting some of our people killed. Anybody want to volunteer for that?" Silence. “Yeah, I thought so. I can’t get you people to show up and pick melons, let alone throw down with Drake.” “That’s your job,” Zil said. “Oh, I see,” Sam said. The resentment he’d held in now came boiling to the surface. “It’s my job to pick the fruit, and collect the trash, and ration the food, and catch Hunter, and stop Caine, and settle every stupid little fight, and make sure kids get a visit from the Tooth Fairy. What’s your job, Zil? Oh, right: you spray hateful graffiti. Thanks for taking care of that, I don’t know how we’d ever manage without you.” “Sam…,” Astrid said, just loud enough for him to hear. A warning. Too late. He was going to say what needed saying. “And the rest of you. How many of you have done a single, lousy thing in the last two weeks aside from sitting around playing Xbox or watching movies? “Let me explain something to you people. I’m not your parents. I’m a fifteen-year-old kid. I’m a kid, just like all of you. I don’t happen to have any magic ability to make food suddenly appear. I can’t just snap my fingers and make all your problems go away. I’m just a kid.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sam knew he had crossed the line. He had said the fateful words so many had used as an excuse before him. How many hundreds of times had he heard, “I’m just a kid.” But now he seemed unable to stop the words from tumbling out. “Look, I have an eighth-grade education. Just because I have powers doesn’t mean I’m Dumbledore or George Washington or Martin Luther King. Until all this happened I was just a B student. All I wanted to do was surf. I wanted to grow up to be Dru Adler or Kelly Slater, just, you know, a really good surfer.” The crowd was dead quiet now. Of course they were quiet, some still-functioning part of his mind thought bitterly, it’s entertaining watching someone melt down in public. “I’m doing the best I can,” Sam said. “I lost people today…I…I screwed up. I should have figured out Caine might go after the power plant.” Silence. “I’m doing the best I can.” No one said a word. Sam refused to meet Astrid’s eyes. If he saw pity there, he would fall apart completely. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.

against the velvet rope force fields that kept everyone without an invitation at bay. As I walked toward the entrance, the crowd bombarded me with a mix of insults, autograph requests, death threats, and tearful declarations of undying love. I had my body shield activated, but surprisingly, no one took a shot at me. I flashed the cyborg doorman my invitation, then mounted the long crystal staircase leading up into the club. Entering the Distracted Globe was more than a little disorienting. The inside of the giant sphere was completely hollow, and its curved interior surface served as the club’s bar and lounge area. The moment you passed through the entrance, the laws of gravity changed. No matter where you walked, your avatar’s feet always adhered to the interior of the sphere, so you could walk in a straight line, up to the “top” of the club, then back down the other side, ending up right back where you started. The huge open space in the center of the sphere served as the club’s zero-gravity “dance floor.” You reached it simply by jumping off the ground, like Superman taking flight, and then swimming through the air, into the spherical zero-g “groove zone.” As I stepped through the entrance, I glanced up—or in the direction that was currently “up” to me at the moment—and took a long look around. The place was packed. Hundreds of avatars milled around like ants crawling around the inside of a giant balloon. Others were already out on the dance floor—spinning, flying, twisting, and tumbling in time with the music, which thumped out of floating spherical speakers that drifted throughout the club. In the middle of all the dancers, a large clear bubble was suspended in space, at the absolute center of the club. This was the “booth” where the DJ stood, surrounded by turntables, mixers, decks, and dials. At the center of all that gear was the opening DJ, R2-D2, hard at work, using his various robotic arms to work the turntables. I recognized the tune he was playing: the ’88 remix of New Order’s “Blue Monday,” with a lot of Star Wars droid sound samples mixed in. As I made my way to the nearest bar, the avatars I passed all stopped to stare and point in

driveway, her hip scraping as she tumbled, her skin torn and bleeding. She knew she should have worn trousers. The world rocked to a stop, balanced itself out and she opened her eyes. The Infected were standing looking at her, and Dusk strode through them, his eyes narrowed and his lips curled in hatred. And then Valkyrie was up and running. She was sore, she felt blood on her legs and arms, but she ignored the pain. She looked back, saw the mass of Infected surge after her. She passed the club gates and took the first road to her left, losing a shoe in the process and cursing herself for not wearing boots. It was narrow, and dark, with fields on one side and a row of back gardens on the other. She came to a junction. Up one way she could see headlights, so she turned down the other, leading the Infected away from any bystanders. She darted in off the road, running behind the Pizza Palace and the video store, realising her mistake when she heard the voices around the next corner. The pub had a back door that smokers used. She veered off to her right, ran for the garden wall and leaped over it. She stayed low, and wondered for a moment if she’d managed to lose the Infected so easily. Dusk dropped on to her from above and she cried out. He sent her reeling. “I’m not following the rules any more,” he said. She looked at him, saw him shaking. He took a syringe from his coat and let it drop. “No more rules. No more serum. This time, there’ll be nothing to stop me tearing you limb from limb.” He grunted as the pain hit. “I’m sorry I cut you,” Valkyrie tried, backing away. “Too late. You can run if you want. Adrenaline makes the blood taste sweeter.” He smiled and she saw the fangs start to protrude through his gums. He brought his hands to his shirt, and then, like Superman, he ripped the shirt open. Unlike Superman, however, he took his flesh with it, revealing the chalk-white skin of the creature underneath. Valkyrie darted towards him and his eyes widened in surprise. She dived, snatched the syringe from the ground and plunged it into his leg. Dusk roared, kicked her on to her back, his transformation interrupted. He tried to rip off the rest of his humanity, but his human skin tore at the neck. This wasn’t the smooth shucking she’d seen the previous night. This was messy and painful. Valkyrie scrambled up. The Infected had heard Dusk’s anguished cries, and they were closing in. he Edgley family reunion was taking up the main function hall, at the front of the building, leaving the rear of the golf club in darkness. That was probably a good thing, Tanith reflected, as she watched Skulduggery fly backwards through the air. The Torment-spider turned to her and she dodged a slash from one of his talons. She turned and ran, but he was much faster. Tanith jumped for the side of the building and ran upwards, a ploy that had got her out of a lot of trouble in the past, but then, she had never faced a giant spider before. His talons clacked as he followed her up, chattering as he came.

He was a careful and capable leader who had gained respect for the traditional knowledge of native people during his service.

It felt like heading out for a run immediately after a stressful work or travel day.

This heightened resilience to stress will help the soldiers handle the inevitable chaos they will encounter during combat and reduce their likelihood of developing post-traumatic stress disorder.

Another eight-week program modeled on Kabat-Zinn’s stress-reduction course. This version of mindfulness training puts more emphasis on sport-specific skills like concentration and embracing rather than avoiding pain, and addresses common athlete pitfalls like perfectionism by teaching self-compassion.

Instead of blocking out the pain, I try to accept it, feel it as much as possible.

I, too, kept searching for the formula—the one that would allow me to calculate, once and for all, my limits. If I knew that I had run as fast as my body was capable of, I reasoned, I’d be able to walk away from the sport with no regrets.

Their immeasurable and ongoing support throughout my life is what has allowed me to pursue a career as a writer.

Olympic athletes are strong and fit and tough. But none of that matters if they’re not also resilient, capable of shaking off setbacks and adapting quickly to unexpected circumstances.

Top athletes really push themselves to a darker place, and stay there longer, than most people are willing to tolerate.

Six feet of hard-muscled Latino Superman, with the deepest dimples you ever saw and the softest lips she’d ever kissed.

I remind myself that my fiercest opponent will be my own brain’s well-meaning protective circuitry. It’s a lesson I first learned in my breakthrough 1,500-meter race in Sherbrooke more than two decades ago, but its implications continue to surprise me. I’m eager to learn more, in the coming years, about which signals the brain responds to, how those signals are processed, and—yes—whether they can be altered. But it’s enough, for now, to know that when the moment of truth comes, science has confirmed what athletes have always believed: that there’s more in there—if you’re willing to believe it.

Carrying a gun every moron feels like superman. Stand up to cruelty unarmed, then you are human.

The Chupacabra Sonnet Chihuahuas need guns for strength, They feel naked without concealed carry. To them I say, with all humility, Open your eyes muchacho - ¡chupacabra aquí! You may keep your gun, I won't say a word, But don't confuse them to be your safe haven. Own them in secret, but think of using them, And you'll face the wrath of this kraken. You may conceal, you may carry, if law allows, But dare not raise your gun at a reformador. To the wounded stranger I am ointment, But to the inhuman vermin I am volcano. Carrying a gun every moron feels like superman. Stand up to cruelty unarmed, then you are human.

The God Gone Mad.

Now many people have tried to offer reverse ontological arguments (what we might call 'Bizarro' arguments after Superman’s Doppelgänger) in order to undercut one’s intuitive justification for believing that (1) [It is possible that a maximally great being (aka God) exists.] You can appeal to any sort of world in which God does not exist, whether it be a world with nothing in it, or a single particle...or a world with lots of particles...So long as someone stipulates that ONLY such things exist, one rules out God and, hence, maximal greatness. I think the problem with all such Bizarro ontological arguments is that the second premise 2) But there is a possible world in which God does not exist...begs the question by assuming that the concept of maximal greatness is incoherent. Just because we can imagine a world in which a single particle (or whatever) exists gives no reason for thinking that such a world is metaphysically possible... To do that, you have to know first that maximal greatness is impossible. Now you might think, 'But isn’t the theist in the same boat? For him to know that it is possible that a maximally great being exists, he must presuppose or know first that it is impossible that only a single particle exists.' Not at all! The theist’s confidence in (1) is based upon the intuitive coherence of maximal greatness, considered in and of itself. He then infers that a world with only a single particle or whatever is impossible. It is a conclusion from, not a presupposition of, the ontological argument. By contrast, the bizarro objection is based, not on the admittedly intuitive possibility of a particle (say, a quark or a boson), considered in and of itself, but rather on the world’s consisting wholly of such a particle. The possibility of that speculation is not given to you by the possibility of the particle itself but requires the incoherence of maximal greatness.

Nhiều người từ bỏ việc học sau khi họ ra trường vì mười ba hoặc hai mươi năm giáo dục với động lực từ bên ngoài vẫn là một nguồn ký ức khó chịu. Sự chú ý của họ đã bị thao túng đủ lâu từ bên ngoài bởi những quyển sách giáo khoa và các giáo viên, và họ đã coi ngày tốt nghiệp là ngày đầu tiên của tự do.

1. Nhiều người từ bỏ việc học sau khi họ ra trường vì mười ba hoặc hai mươi năm giáo dục với động lực từ bên ngoài vẫn là một nguồn ký ức khó chịu. Sự chú ý của họ đã bị thao túng đủ lâu từ bên ngoài bởi những quyển sách giáo khoa và các giáo viên, và họ đã coi ngày tốt nghiệp là ngày đầu tiên của tự do. 2. Truyền thuyết xưa cũ này tiếp tục truyền đi qua hàng thế kỷ. Phòng chờ của các bác sĩ tâm thần được lấp đầy bởi những bệnh nhân giàu có và thành công, những người ở độ tuổi bốn mươi, năm mươi bất chợt thức tỉnh trước sự thật rằng một căn nhà ngoại ô sang trọng, những chiếc xe hơi đắt tiền và ngay cả một nền giáo dục đẳng cấp ở Ivy League15 cũng không đủ để mang lại sự bình yên trong tâm trí. Thế nhưng mọi người vẫn tiếp tục hy vọng rằng sự thay đổi các điều kiện bên ngoài trong đời sống của họ sẽ mang lại một giải pháp. Họ tin rằng chỉ cần có thể kiếm được nhiều tiền hơn, có diện mạo đẹp hơn, hay có một người bạn đời thấu hiểu hơn thì họ sẽ thật sự hạnh phúc. Mặc dù chúng ta nhận ra rằng thành công về mặt vật chất có thể không mang lại hạnh phúc, song chúng ta vẫn lao vào một cuộc chiến đấu không hồi kết để đạt tới các mục tiêu bên ngoài, trông mong rằng chúng sẽ cải thiện cuộc đời mình. 3. TẠI NHỮNG THỜI ĐIỂM NHẤT ĐỊNH trong lịch sử, các nền văn hóa đã mặc định rằng một cá nhân không hoàn toàn được xem là con người trừ khi anh ta hoặc cô ta học được cách làm chủ các suy nghĩ và cảm xúc của mình

Here the choice is simple. To remain at play within the field of living, fluid consciousness. Or to turn and face down evil one last time.

I used to be a roller coaster girl" (for Ntozake Shange) I used to be a roller coaster girl 7 times in a row No vertigo in these skinny legs My lipstick bubblegum pink As my panther 10 speed. never kissed Nappy pigtails, no-brand gym shoes White lined yellow short-shorts Scratched up legs pedaling past borders of humus and baba ganoush Masjids and liquor stores City chicken, pepperoni bread and superman ice cream Cones. Yellow black blending with bits of Arabic Islam and Catholicism. My daddy was Jesus My mother was quiet Jayne Kennedy was worshipped by my brother Mark I don’t remember having my own bed before 12. Me and my sister Lisa shared. Sometimes all three Moore girls slept in the Queen. You grow up so close never close enough. I used to be a roller coaster girl Wild child full of flowers and ideas Useless crushes on polish boys in a school full of white girls. Future black swan singing Zeppelin, U2 and Rick Springfield Hoping to be Jessie’s Girl I could outrun my brothers and Everybody else to that reoccurring line I used to be a roller coaster girl Till you told me I was moving too fast Said my rush made your head spin My laughter hurt your ears A scream of happiness A whisper of freedom Pouring out my armpits Sweating up my neck You were always the scared one I kept my eyes open for the entire trip Right before the drop I would brace myself And let that force push my head back into That hard iron seat My arms nearly fell off a few times Still, I kept running back to the line When I was done Same way I kept running back to you I used to be a roller coaster girl I wasn’t scared of mountains or falling Hell, I looked forward to flying and dropping Off this earth and coming back to life every once in a while I found some peace in being out of control allowing my blood to race through my veins for 180 seconds I earned my sometime nicotine pull I buy my own damn drinks & the ocean Still calls my name when it feels my toes Near its shore. I still love roller coasters & you grew up to be Afraid of all girls who cld ride Fearlessly like me.