My experience in Amsterdam is that cyclists ride where the hell they like and aim in a state of rage at all pedestrians while ringing their bell loudly, the concept of avoiding people being foreign to them.My dream holiday would be a) a ticket to Amsterdam b) immunity from prosecution and c) a baseball bat.

Pay attention… How a person handles poor cell service, traffic, and spotty wifi is a good indicator of how they’ll behave during relationship challenges.

Americans will put up with anything provided it doesn't block traffic.

Nostalgia washes over me with tons of memors and lifetime rolled on this land. Every oblivious memory from the childhood wraps open in the fragrance of these busy roads and familiar land, long signals, irritating traffic,honking cars,rushing people,excessive pollution defining Delhi at its best.

All this waiting.Waiting for the rain to stop. Waiting in traffic. Waiting for the bill. Waiting at the airport for an old friend.Waiting to depart. Then, there’s the big waiting: waiting to grow up. Waiting for love. Waiting to show youryour parents that when you have kids you’ll be different. Waiting to retire. Waiting for death. Why do we think waitingis the antithesis of lifewhen it is almostall of it?

Take your own route, not the route everyone is using or taking. Create your own way; there is always traffic on the common route.

Fueled by faith and passion for our true priorities we're going to drive against traffic in order to find rest, refreshment, and time for what matters most in life.

You want to achieve your dreams early, right? I know of only one back door; that's HARDWORK. Only few people use that entrance so the advantage is that there is no or less traffic there!

I won't be stuck in traffic 'til I see how rugged my path isAnd right now I'm loving how fast my troubles are fastingNo they don't bother me oh realizing I'm psychopathicA wild beast, baby I'm gladly running afterYes a thing called peace outlasting any madnessThe devil fears me oh he's feelingLike a fragment of a fractionNo he won't come near me'Cause his hat trick's out of practice

All that remains of the garden city in our own day are traffic-free enclaves, islands in a sea of traffic where the pedestrian leads a legally protected by languishing existence, comparable to that of the North American Indians on their reservations...In reality the modern urbanist regards the city as a gigantic centre of production, geared to the efficient transport of workers and goods, to the accommodation of people and the storage of wares, to industrial and commercial activity. The rest, that is to say creativity, life, is optional and comes under the heading of recreation and leisure activities.

There is no doubt that I have lots of words inside me; but at moments, like rush-hour traffic at the mouth of a tunnel, they jam.

The modern man is usually in a hurry to get to a destination from which he will sooner or later suffer from and at times complain about boredom.

We know how to read traffic lights, but what don't you know how to read spiritual signs?

We're going nowhere, " Joan said grimly. Traffic on the narrow street was at a complete standstill.A chill settled in Sophie's stomach: it was the appalling fear that her brother was going to die."Sidewalk," Nicholas said decisively. "Take it.""But the pedestrians—""Can get out of the way. Use your horn.

God provides something to you through somebody. Thats same God can give something to somebody through you. If you make yourself a greedy traffic on the way and deprive the final destined owner of what you supposed to keep provisionally, you make God upset.

Clouds shed the agony of the sky and rain concludes it by covering us in filth. What do you think about the puddles of mud and traffic jams? I so hate rain.

The smell of cars' smokeas I wade through trafficovershadows the freshfragrance of Mother Earthdrenched in rain. There canbe no greater testimony to man's progress

They've never known a time when people drank rain water because it was pure, or could eat snow, or swim in any river or brook. The last time I drove to Washington the traffic was so bad that I could have made better time with a horse.

If you haven't seen your wife smile at a traffic cop, you haven't seen her smile her prettiest.

I was once in San Francisco, and I parked in the only available space, which happened to be on the other side of the street. The law descended on me. Was I aware of how dangerous the manoeuvre I’d just made was? I looked at the law a bit blankly. What had I done wrong? I had, said the law, parked against the flow of traffic. Puzzled, I looked up and down the street. What traffic? I asked. The traffic that would be there, said the law, if there was any traffic. This was a bit metaphysical, even for me, so I explained, a bit lamely, that in England we just park wherever we can find a parking space available, and weren’t that fussy about which side of the street it was on. He looked at me aghast, as if I was lucky to have got out of a country of such wild and crazy car parkers alive, and promptly gave me a ticket. Clearly he would rather have deported me before my subversive ideas brought chaos and anarchy to streets that normally had to cope with nothing more alarming than a few simple assault rifles. Which, as we know, in the States are perfectly legal, and without which they would be overrun by herds of deer, overbearing government officers, and lawless British tea importers.

Traffic in Joburg is like the democratic process. Every time you think it's going to get moving and take you somewhere, you hit another jam.

This stupidity of sounding a siren and speeding through traffic with a coffin must be an African speciality.

On that walk around the building, two sets of cops coming out stopped to tell our guys to hustle us inside so they could head back out on the road. Accidents everywhere. A pileup oneach of two major roads. “Welcome to winter,” one said. “When fifty percent of drivers should have their licenses temporarily suspended.

There's a difference between driving and texting. When your driving your eyes have to be open and on the road watching the cars around you, road signs, and traffic lights. Along with your mind on the road and destination. Which means you are multitasking. When your texting your eyes are on your cell phone screen and key pad. Along with your mind on what your going to say next. So how can you do both? Please stop!

Time passed at an accelerated pace. They could be sitting in traffic or talking on the phone or waiting in line for a movie, and their time felt precious, important, worthwhile.

The line of traffic advancing towards the rising sun looked like a procession of the returning dead. Every one of them, solitaries in clean shirts, smoking, checking mirrors to see if their reflections were still there, wore dark glasses.

Why do I always forget that traffic is a social affair?

Never follow the crowd....Until and unless you're crossing the road...

An advanced city is not a place where the poor move about in cars, rather it’s where even the rich use public transportation