Superman Inspirational Quotes

Everyone looks up to you. They listen to you. If you tell them to fight, they'll fight. But they need to be inspired. And let's face it, "Superman"... the last time you really inspired anyone -- was when you were dead.

You don't get tired of muffins. But you don't find inspiration in them

Life was meant to be lived full measure, flat out, pedal to the metal. Don't live the rest of your life like a Porsche that never leaves the garage because somebody's afraid to scratch it.

The true artist will let his wife starve, his children go barefoot, his mother drudge for his living at seventy, sooner than work at anything but his art. To women he is half vivisector, half vampire. He gets into intimate relations with them to study them, to strip the mask of convention from them, to surprise their inmost secrets, knowing that they have the power to rouse his deepest creative energies, to rescue him from his cold reason, to make him see visions and dream dreams, to inspire him, as he calls it. He persuades women that they may do this for their own purpose whilst he really means them to do it for his. He steals the mother’s milk and blackens it to make printer’s ink to scoff at her and glorify ideal women with. He pretends to spare her the pangs of child-bearing so that he may have for himself the tenderness and fostering that belong of right to her children. Since marriage began, the great artist has been known as a bad husband. But he is worse: he is a child-robber, a blood-sucker, a hypocrite, and a cheat. Perish the race and wither a thousand women if only the sacrifice of them enable him to act Hamlet better, to paint a finer picture, to write a deeper poem, a greater play, a profounder philosophy! For mark you, Tavy, the artist’s work is to shew us ourselves as we really are. Our minds are nothing but this knowledge of ourselves; and he who adds a jot to such knowledge creates new mind as surely as any woman creates new men. In the rage of that creation he is as ruthless as the woman, as dangerous to her as she to him, and as horribly fascinating. Of all human struggles there is none so treacherous and remorseless as the struggle between the artist man and the mother woman. Which shall use up the other? that is the issue between them. And it is all the deadlier because, in your romanticist cant, they love one another.

Our first night in the house, my wife and I were lying in bed. I was thanking God for my blessings. Thanking God for not having to pull aside a dining room curain to have my children near—that they were right down the hall, asleep in their Superman underwear, their little chests rising and falling to the pulse of their dreams. I thought how some blessings are fickle guests. Just when we think they're here to stay, they pack their bags and move. When we're in the midst of blessing, we think it's our due—that blessing lasts forever. Next thing you know we're sitting helpless beside a hospital bed. All we're left with is a name on a wall, a toy in a desk, and memories that haunt our sleep. Sometimes we come to gratitute too late. It's only after blessing has passed on that we realize what we had.

You don't need wings but courage to be SUPERMAN!!!!

So many sit around, waiting for superman, when in fact, Wonder Woman lies within.

Because I was not superhuman, I was just a human, and my attempts to be this superman, this Telon star, someone infallible who everyone could look at as the perfect man, were eventually my downfall. Of course, I still write down my goals, I still see the value in being fit and doing my job well. But trying to be perfect will leave you empty-handed, whereas trying to do your best will keep you fulfilled. The best you can do is always good. I realized you don't have to be perfect, you just have to be faithful in your attempts.

Sure, some people are afraid of steroids. Some people were afraid of fire, too. Afraid of electricity, or of splitting the atom. But I know that the body I have now is far superior to the one I was born with. I, Jose Canseco, have changed my own destiny and become more than just an athletic superstar -- I have become a superman. A god!

It doesn't matter if you're seventeen or fifty-seven, if you come from a poor background or a rich one, if you went to the best schools or the worst. It. Doesn't. Matter. What matters is listening to the small voice at the back of your head that says *This is what gives me joy.* It's about fighting naysayers and self-doubt when you feel you can't fight for even one more second. It's about standing up when all you want to do is lie down until life stops hitting you. It's not easy. It was never *meant* to be easy. But it can be done if we *choose* to do it.

It is unhealthy to try to be Superman, standing with solitary strength facing our battles alone. We all need help. We need friends. We need advice. We need support and assistance. We need hugs, smiles, love, and encouragement. We are human, and that is how humans thrive—by working together.

Re-imagined or reinterpreted source material offers unique perspectives into the creative process. I like hearing a band cover another band’s tune. I dig seeing multiple interpretations of a Shakespearean play. I’m inspired by reading a creative team’s successful take on the origin of Superman. Sometimes the remakes can surprise us, sometimes they’re tired, and sometimes they fail, but they are almost always enlightening. I root for the success of a remake. A remake can breathe new life into something forgotten. I want to see something bad turned into something good or something good turned into something phenomenal.

No greater affirmation of life is possible than to wish every part of it to return to you forever. It is the sublime moment when a person can look at his life, no matter what it consists of – good, bad, or indifferent – and find within himself the desire never to be freed from any aspect of it that allows a human being to be transformed into an Übermensch, the supreme life affirmer.

It seemed to me, from a psychological angle, that the comics' worst offense was their blood-curdling masculinity. A male hero, at best, lacks the qualities of maternal love and tenderness which are as essential to a normal child as the breath of life. Suppose your child's ideal becomes a superman who uses his extraordinary powers to help the weak. The most important ingredient in the human happiness recipe still is missing - love.

Whatever our history, whatever the root of our surnames, we remain a good and decent people, and we do not bow down and we do not give up. The fire of the human spirit cannot be quenched by bomb blasts or body counts. Cannot be intimidated forever into silence or drowned by tears. We have endured worse before. We will bear this burden and all that come hereafter because that's what ordinary men and women do. No matter what. This has not made us weaker. It has only made us stronger.

Re-imagined or reinterpreted source material offers unique perspectives into the creative process. I like hearing a band cover another band’s tune. I dig seeing multiple interpretations of a Shakespearean play. I’m inspired by reading a creative team’s successful take on the origin of Superman. Sometimes the remakes can surprise us, sometimes they’re tired, and sometimes they fail, but they are almost always enlightening. I root for the success of a remake. A remake can breathe new life into something forgotten. I want to see something bad turned into something good or something good turned into something phenomenal.

Books are admitted to the canon by a compact which confesses their greatness in consideration of abrogating their meaning; so that the reverend rector can agree with the prophet Micah as to his inspired style without being committed to any complicity in Micah's furiously Radical opinions. Why, even I, as I force myself; pen in hand, into recognition and civility, find all the force of my onslaught destroyed by a simple policy of non-resistance. In vain do I redouble the violence of the language in which I proclaim my heterodoxies. I rail at the theistic credulity of Voltaire, the amoristic superstition of Shelley, the revival of tribal soothsaying and idolatrous rites which Huxley called Science and mistook for an advance on the Pentateuch, no less than at the welter of ecclesiastical and professional humbug which saves the face of the stupid system of violence and robbery which we call Law and Industry. Even atheists reproach me with infidelity and anarchists with nihilism because I cannot endure their moral tirades. And yet, instead of exclaiming "Send this inconceivable Satanist to the stake," the respectable newspapers pith me by announcing "another book by this brilliant and thoughtful writer." And the ordinary citizen, knowing that an author who is well spoken of by a respectable newspaper must be all right, reads me, as he reads Micah, with undisturbed edification from his own point of view. It is narrated that in the eighteen-seventies an old lady, a very devout Methodist, moved from Colchester to a house in the neighborhood of the City Road, in London, where, mistaking the Hall of Science for a chapel, she sat at the feet of Charles Bradlaugh for many years, entranced by his eloquence, without questioning his orthodoxy or moulting a feather of her faith. I fear I small be defrauded of my just martyrdom in the same way.

I read Dickens and Shakespear without shame or stint; but their pregnant observations and demonstrations of life are not co-ordinated into any philosophy or religion: on the contrary, Dickens's sentimental assumptions are violently contradicted by his observations; and Shakespear's pessimism is only his wounded humanity. Both have the specific genius of the fictionist and the common sympathies of human feeling and thought in pre-eminent degree. They are often saner and shrewder than the philosophers just as Sancho-Panza was often saner and shrewder than Don Quixote. They clear away vast masses of oppressive gravity by their sense of the ridiculous, which is at bottom a combination of sound moral judgment with lighthearted good humor. But they are concerned with the diversities of the world instead of with its unities: they are so irreligious that they exploit popular religion for professional purposes without delicacy or scruple (for example, Sydney Carton and the ghost in Hamlet!): they are anarchical, and cannot balance their exposures of Angelo and Dogberry, Sir Leicester Dedlock and Mr Tite Barnacle, with any portrait of a prophet or a worthy leader: they have no constructive ideas: they regard those who have them as dangerous fanatics: in all their fictions there is no leading thought or inspiration for which any man could conceivably risk the spoiling of his hat in a shower, much less his life. Both are alike forced to borrow motives for the more strenuous actions of their personages from the common stockpot of melodramatic plots; so that Hamlet has to be stimulated by the prejudices of a policeman and Macbeth by the cupidities of a bushranger. Dickens, without the excuse of having to manufacture motives for Hamlets and Macbeths, superfluously punt his crew down the stream of his monthly parts by mechanical devices which I leave you to describe, my own memory being quite baffled by the simplest question as to Monks in Oliver Twist, or the long lost parentage of Smike, or the relations between the Dorrit and Clennam families so inopportunely discovered by Monsieur Rigaud Blandois. The truth is, the world was to Shakespear a great "stage of fools" on which he was utterly bewildered. He could see no sort of sense in living at all; and Dickens saved himself from the despair of the dream in The Chimes by taking the world for granted and busying himself with its details. Neither of them could do anything with a serious positive character: they could place a human figure before you with perfect verisimilitude; but when the moment came for making it live and move, they found, unless it made them laugh, that they had a puppet on their hands, and had to invent some artificial external stimulus to make it work.

Four Years Since Today I remember the day but to be honest it is everyday That day then, the moment then, when you left us all here More than just a father I call, a gem I treasure, that day I lost We four girls, my mom’s other half, my brothers best bud, our first love, we lost Holding the key to the future called You, I stand still facing the gate of the past Why I keep on asking the same question? Why you? Why out of all those people? Why too soon? Why? It has been years, 4 years exact, it seems like yesterday yes You were taken too soon, words aren’t enough to express It’s not fair, but who I am to blame, who Am I to question? My eyes express longing you cannot fathom From my open mouth my broken heart pours Words that try to capture that image so faint He is the picture I could not ever paint Yet our memories is in the solid bowl being kept Spare me even just 5 or 10 minutes of your presence To build up this longing I feel, I am asking I want to hear your nag; I want to hear your laugh In my dreams please see me there I won’t get afraid nor get frightened Like a waterfalls my tears keeps on flowing Like a bubble your voice keeps on vanishing He, his shadow, he himself starts from fading I don’t want to forget you please stop time from ticking I don’t want to open my eyes don’t wake me from dreaming You are the art of my painting, the muse of my poem My strength, my inspiration why I’m still holding on My king, my superman, name them all, you are my only one I miss the old golden days when you used to carry us one by one Look papa, how I am now, hoping always, you’ll be proud It pains me to know this inevitable truth, yes That I can’t see you for now yes it’s the truth, but My father’s love undeniable not easily obtained Something that few, many people rather don’t have But I’m blessed and proud I have mine claimed.

Love is the world's superman.

Who wanted to grow up, when we had the heroes like batman and superman and we had this little tiny body to act with, like them. Alas, we all have that childish nature still in us, but it's all about how people would think of us.

They say it takes a hero to gaze unflinchingly past their childhood indoctrinations. But my father’s indoctrination was pure goodness. “Everyone is brainwashed,” my father says. “It just depends on what you wash your brain with.” He brainwashed me to want to be like him — a hero. He showed me that a hero can be like the moon, quietly impacting the changing tides of life while the world sleeps, without needing the sun splash of a public stage. From the day his disability attacked him until this very moment, my father walks with “abilities” far less than other mortal men. But it’s what’s on the inside that makes my Ta, or anyone, a Superman.

They say it takes a hero to gaze unflinchingly past their childhood indoctrinations. But my father’s indoctrination was pure goodness. “Everyone is brainwashed,” my father says. “It just depends on what you wash your brain with.” He brainwashed me to want to be like him — a hero. He showed me that a hero can be like the moon, quietly impacting the changing tides of life while the world sleeps, without needing the sun splash of a public stage. From the day his disability attacked him until this very moment, my father walks with “abilities” far less than other mortal men. But it’s what’s on the inside that makes my Ta, or anyone, a Superman

Fantasy and Responsibility (The Sonnet) Fantasy is good so long as it doesn't make us, Oblivious to our responsibility of reality. Imagination expands the mind for sure, Only when it empowers our acts of accountability. Growing up in India, I did not have superman, But I did indulge religiously in some shaktimaan. I don't know whether it influenced my making, But it sure did fill my childhood with fascination. People draw inspiration from different places, That's a normal tenet of the mind, not a violation. But inspiration is inspiration only when it leads, To collective uplift, otherwise it's just delusion. Fantasy is healthy when practiced with moderation. Too much fiction paralyzes responsibility and reason.

There are three kinds of persons who practice discrimination against Indians and other Native people. First, the politician who wants to maintain an inferior minority group so he can always promise them something. Second, the Mr. and Mrs. Jones who aren't quite sure of their social position and who are nice to you on one occasion and can't see you on others, depending on who they are with. Third, the great superman who believes in the superiority of the white race. - Elizabeth Peratrovich

instrumental in starting (and later rejecting) “stunt” journalism. She showed that a woman reporter need not be confined to the “women’s pages” of a newspaper, but rather deserved headlines all her own. She was the inspiration for countless women to enter the field. She was also the basis for the comic book character Lois Lane. The real Lois Lane, however, never needed a Superman. Today she is best remembered for the stunts, beginning with her ten days undercover as a “bogus lunatic” to expose the inhumane conditions

The humanistic beliefs, then, of most secular people should be recognized as exactly that—beliefs. They cannot be deduced logically or empirically from the natural, material world alone. If there is no transcendent reality beyond this life, then there is no value or meaning for anything.64 To hold that human beings are the product of nothing but the evolutionary process of the strong eating the weak, but then to insist that nonetheless every person has a human dignity to be honored—is an enormous leap of faith against all evidence to the contrary. Even Nietzsche, however, cannot escape his own scalpel. He blasted secular liberals for being inconsistent and cowardly. He believed that calls for social bonding and benevolence for the poor and weak meant “herd-like uniformity, the ruin of the noble spirit, and the ascendency of the masses.”65 He wanted to turn from the “banal creed” of modern liberalism to the tragic, warrior culture (the “Ubermensch” or “Superman”) of ancient times. He believed the new “Man of the Future” would have the courage to look into the bleakness of a universe without God and take no religious consolation. He would have the “noble spirit” to be “superbly self-fashioning” and not beholden to anyone else’s imposed moral standards.66 All of these declarations by Nietzsche compose, of course, a profoundly moral narrative. Why is the “noble spirit” noble? Why is it good to be courageous, and who says so? Why is it bad to be inconsistent? Where did such moral values come from, and what right does Nietzsche have, by his own philosophy, to label one way of living noble or good and other ways bad?67 In short, he can’t stop doing what he tells everyone else to stop doing. Thus, Eagleton observes, Nietzsche’s “Man of the Future” has not abolished God at all. “Like the Almighty, he rests upon nothing but himself.” We see that there is no truly irreligious human being. Nietzsche is calling people to worship themselves, to grant the same faith and authority to themselves that they once put in God. Even Nietzsche believes. “The autonomous, self-determining Superman is yet another piece of counterfeit theology.”68 We have seen that the secular humanism Nietzsche despised lacks a good grounding for its moral values.69 However, the even greater dangers of Nietzsche’s antihumanism are a matter of historical record. Peter Watson details how Nietzsche’s views were important inspirations in the twentieth century to totalitarian figures of both the Left and Right, of both Nazism and Stalinism.70

What if, like Superman, everyone is born with powers to discover and grow into? And what if, like Batman, everyone has resources to uncover and utilize?

Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900) has so often been accused of being fascism’s progenitor that his case requires particular care. Intended for the Lutheran pastorate, the young Nietzsche lost his faith and became a professor of classical philology while still extraordinarily young. For his remaining good years (he suffered permanent mental breakdown at fifty, perhaps related to syphilis) he invested all his brilliance and rage in attacking complacent and conformist bourgeois piety, softness, and moralism in the name of a hard, pure independence of spirit. In a world where God was dead, Christianity weak, and Science false, only a spiritually free “superman” could fight free of convention and live according to his own authentic values. At first Nietzsche inspired mostly rebellious youth and shocked their parents. At the same time, his writing contained plenty of raw material for people who wanted to brood on the decline of modern society, the heroic effort of will needed to reverse it, and the nefarious influence of Jews. Nietzsche himself was scornful of patriotism and the actual anti-Semites he saw around him, and imagined his superman a “free spirit, the enemy of fetters, the non-worshipper, the dweller in forests.” His white-hot prose exerted a powerful intellectual and aesthetic influence across the political spectrum, from activist nationalists like Mussolini and Maurice Barrès to nonconformists like Stefan George and André Gide, to both Nazis and anti-Nazis, and to several later generations of French iconoclasts from Sartre to Foucault. “Nietzsche’s texts themselves provide a positive goldmine of varied possibilities.

The Faustian knows that no one is coming to save him. He must save himself. He will try anything, go anywhere, in his quest for the Holy Grail. He commits himself unreservedly to the greatest cause of all – to discover the innermost secrets of creation. And only one person possesses those secrets: God. And that is Faust’s sacred and infinitely inspiring quest – to become God himself. He is the Nietzschean Superman. He has no limits, he bows to no false prophets, he needs no ancient books full of rules and commandments and silly parables and stories.

If we embark on Nietzsche’s project to become Supermen, to be creators and value makers, to rise to the highest heights, then we are donning the mantle of God. It is by walking in God’s shoes that we enormously increase our chances of contacting our divine spark.

You are stronger than you think. Believe me.

Then here is a question by Mrs. Baynes: "There seems to be a growing conviction in our world that it is heroic to murder for the sake of the cause one is serving, and lily-livered to be held back by the thought of what that means. Has the pathological element in Nietzsche's idea of the pale criminal helped to foster this point of view?" Well, it is generally said that Nietzsche was at the bottom of the world war and the new revolution in Germany, and so on. Nietzsche himself would be highly astonished to hear such news. He surely never dreamt that he would be called the father of all this modern political evil. That really comes more from the misunderstanding to which Nietzsche is exposed. For he made one considerable mistake which of course would not be generally considered a mistake. But I call it a mistake that he ever published Zarathustra. That is a book which ought not to be published; it should be reserved for people who have undergone a very careful training in the psychology of the unconscious. Only then, having given evidence of not being overthrown by what the unconscious occasionally says, should people have access to the book. For in Zarathustra we have to deal with a partial revelation of the unconscious. It is full of inspiration, of the immediate manifestation of the unconscious, and therefore should be read with due preparation, with due knowledge of the style and the intentions of the unconscious. If a man reads Zarathustra unprepared, with all the naive presuppositions of our actual civilization, he must necessarily draw wrong conclusions as to the meaning of the "Superman," "the Blond Beast," "the Pale Criminal," and so on. And such people will surely draw such conclusions as murder-for-the-sake-of-the-cause. Many suicides have felt themselves justified by Zarathustra — as any damned nonsense can be justified by Zarathustra. So it is generally assumed that Nietzsche is at the bottom of a whole host of evils on account of his immoral teaching, while as a matter of fact, Nietzsche himself and his teaching are exceedingly moral, but only to people who really understand how to read it. Jung, C. G.. Nietzsche's Zarathustra: Notes of the Seminar given in 1934-1939. Two Volumes: 1-2, unabridged (Jung Seminars) (p. 475-476). Princeton University Press.