Airports Quotes

Quotes tagged as "airports" (showing 1-22 of 22)
Douglas Adams
“It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression, 'As pretty as an airport.”
Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

Erma Bombeck
“Did you ever notice that the first piece of luggage on the carousel never belongs to anyone?”
Erma Bombeck

E.A. Bucchianeri
“It was exciting to be off on a journey she had looked forward to for months. Oddly, the billowing diesel fumes of the airport did not smell like suffocating effluence, it assumed a peculiar pungent scent that morning, like the beginning of a new adventure, if an adventure could exude a fragrance.”
E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly,

Anthony Price
“The Devil himself had probably re-designed Hell in the light of the information he had gained from observing airport layouts.”
Anthony Price, The Memory Trap

Douglas Adams
“It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on Earth has ever produced the expression "as pretty as an airport". Airports are ugly. Some are very ugly. Some attain a degree of ugliness that can only be the result of a special effort. This ugliness arises because airports are full of people who are tired, cross, and have just discovered that their luggage has landed in Murmansk (...) and the architects have on the whole tried to reflect this in their designs.
They have sought to highlight the tiredness and crossness motif with brutal shapes and nerve jangling colours, to make effortless the business of separating the traveller from his or her luggage or loved ones, to confuse the traveller with arrows that appear to point at the windows, distant tie racks, or the current position of the Ursa Minor in the night sky, and wherever possible to expose the plumbing on the grounds that it is functional, and conceal the location of the departure gates, presumably on the grounds that they are not".”
Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

E.A. Bucchianeri
“Finding a taxi, she felt like a child pressing her nose to the window of a candy store as she watched the changing vista pass by while the twilight descended and the capital became bathed in a translucent misty lavender glow. Entering the city from that airport was truly unique. Charles de Gaulle, built nineteen miles north of the bustling metropolis, ensured that the final point of destination was veiled from the eyes of the traveller as they descended. No doubt, the officials scrupulously planned the airport’s location to prevent the incessant air traffic and roaring engines from visibly or audibly polluting the ambience of their beloved capital, and apparently, they succeeded. If one flew over during the summer months, the visitor would be visibly presented with beautifully managed quilt-like fields of alternating gold and green appearing as though they were tilled and clipped with the mathematical precision of a slide rule. The countryside was dotted with quaint villages and towns that were obviously under meticulous planning control. When the aircraft began to descend, this prevailing sense of exactitude and order made the visitor long for an aerial view of the capital city and its famous wonders, hoping they could see as many landmarks as they could before they touched ground, as was the usual case with other major international airports, but from this point of entry, one was denied a glimpse of the city below. Green fields, villages, more fields, the ground grew closer and closer, a runway appeared, a slight bump or two was felt as the craft landed, and they were surrounded by the steel and glass buildings of the airport. Slightly disappointed with this mysterious game of hide-and-seek, the voyager must continue on and collect their baggage, consoled by the reflection that they will see the metropolis as they make their way into town. For those travelling by road, the concrete motorway with its blue road signs, the underpasses and the typical traffic-logged hubbub of industrial areas were the first landmarks to greet the eye, without a doubt, it was a disheartening first impression. Then, the real introduction began. Quietly, and almost imperceptibly, the modern confusion of steel and asphalt was effaced little by little as the exquisite timelessness of Parisian heritage architecture was gradually unveiled. Popping up like mushrooms were cream sandstone edifices filigreed with curled, swirling carvings, gently sloping mansard roofs, elegant ironwork lanterns and wood doors that charmed the eye, until finally, the traveller was completely submerged in the glory of the Second Empire ala Baron Haussmann’s master plan of city design, the iconic grand mansions, tree-lined boulevards and avenues, the quaint gardens, the majestic churches with their towers and spires, the shops and cafés with their colourful awnings, all crowded and nestled together like jewels encrusted on a gold setting.”
E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly,

Jennifer E. Smith
“Her eyes travel down to where he's gripping the handle of her suitcase. "What're you doing?" she asks, blinking at him.
"You looked like you needed some help."
Hadley just stares at him.
"And this way it's perfectly legal," he adds with a grin.”
Jennifer E. Smith, The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight

“You know… the airport is the only place you can walk around with no shoes, a glazed look on your face, and sleep on the benches and no one judges you.”
Coriander Woodruff, The Call of the Spectacled Owl

F. Scott Fitzgerald
“I suppose there has been nothing like the airports since the age of the stage-stops - nothing quite as lonely, as sombre-silent. The red-brick depots were built right into the towns they marked - people didn't get off at those isolated stations unless they lived there. But airports lead you way back in history like oases, like the stops on the great trade routes. The sight of air travellers strolling in ones and twos into midnight airports will draw a small crowd any night up or two. The young people look at the planes, the older ones look at the passengers with a watchful incredulity.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald

Rishi Piparaiya
“Screw the shops; I want a duty-free office.”
Rishi Piparaiya, Aisle Be Damned

Christopher Hitchens
“I was hungry when I left Pyongyang. I wasn't hungry just for a bookshop that sold books that weren't about Fat Man and Little Boy. I wasn't ravenous just for a newspaper that had no pictures of F.M. and L.B. I wasn't starving just for a TV program or a piece of music or theater or cinema that wasn't cultist and hero-worshiping. I was hungry. I got off the North Korean plane in Shenyang, one of the provincial capitals of Manchuria, and the airport buffet looked like a cornucopia. I fell on the food, only to find that I couldn't do it justice, because my stomach had shrunk. And as a foreign tourist in North Korea, under the care of vigilant minders who wanted me to see only the best, I had enjoyed the finest fare available.”
Christopher Hitchens, Love, Poverty, and War: Journeys and Essays

“When it was time to board my flight, I took one last glance back. I knew that I had everything with me so it was not a "make sure I have everything" glance. It was more like a parting glance to Philadelphia, my home, America- for I would not be coming back for ten months. (Ch 5- Twenty in Paris)”
Andrea Bouchaud, Twenty in Paris: A Young American Perspective of Studying Abroad in Paris

Karl Ove Knausgård
“Even though the suitcase was heavy I carried it by the handle as I walked into the departure hall. I detested the tiny wheels, first of all because they were feminine, thus not worthy of a man, a man should carry, not roll, secondly because they suggested easy options, shortcuts, savings, rationality, which I despised and opposed wherever I could, even where it was of the most trivial significance. Why should you live in a world without feeling its weight? Were we just images? And what were we actually saving energy for with these energy-saving devices?”
Karl Ove Knausgård

Ioana-Cristina Casapu
“There is truly no other place bearing so much love as airports.”
Ioana-Cristina Casapu

Jojo Moyes
“Had a million things to say and none I knew how. I stepped forward and kissed him, like people kiss at airports, full of love and desperate longing, kisses that must imprint themselves on their recipient for the journey, for the weeks, the months ahead.”
Jojo Moyes, After You

Kathy Griffin
“One of my recurring D-list moments is when people stop me in the airport and tell me they loved me on SNL. I never know if they think I’m Molly Shannon, Cheri Oteri, or Chris Kattan. I just say “Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed me as Mango.”
Kathy Griffin, Official Book Club Selection: A Memoir According to Kathy Griffin

Steve Almond
“Eventually, I headed to the bathroom, and I mention this only because I saw in that bathroom the most quintessentially American artifact I have ever encountered: a bright blue rubber mat resting in the bottom of the urinal emblazoned with the following legend:

World's Cleanest Airport
Omaha, NE

God bless our relentless idiotic optimism.”
Steve Almond, Candyfreak: A Journey Through the Chocolate Underbelly of America

Benjamin H. Bratton
“Airports are not simulations of cities; rather cities are simulations of airports.”
Benjamin H. Bratton, The Stack: On Software and Sovereignty

William Gibson
“Twenty-three D," he said, as a boarding-pass spooled from a different slot. He pulled her passport out and handed it to her, along with her ticket and the boarding pass. "Gate fifty-two, blue concourse. Checking anything?"
"Passengers who've cleared security may be subject to noninvasive DNA sampling," he said, the words all run together because he was only saying it because it was the law that he had to.
She put her passport and ticket away in the special pocket inside her parka. She kept the boarding pass in her hand. She went looking for the blue concourse. She had to go downstairs to find it, and take one of those trains that was like an elevator that ran sideways. Half an hour later she was through security, looking at the seals they'd put on the zippers of her carry-on. They looked like rings of rubbery red candy. She hadn't expected them to do that; she'd thought she could find a pay-station in the departure lounge, link up, and give the club an update. They never sealed her carry-on when she went to Vancouver to stay with her uncle, but that wasn't really international, not since the Agreement.
She was riding a rubber sidewalk toward Gate 52 when she saw the blue light flashing, up ahead. Soldiers there, and a little barricade. The soldiers were lining people up as they came off the sidewalk. They wore fatigues and didn't seem much older than the guys at her last school.
"Shit," she heard the woman in front of her say, a big-haired blond with obvious extensions woven in.”
William Gibson, Idoru

Haruki Murakami
“747s always remind me of a fat, ugly old lady in the neighborhood where I used to live. Huge sagging breasts, swollen legs, dried up neckline. The airport, a likely gathering place for the old ladies. Dozens of them, coming and going, one after the other.”
Haruki Murakami, A Wild Sheep Chase

Karl Wiggins
“I hate the check-in staff at airports who ask stupid questions like, “Could anyone have put anything into your bag without you knowing?” The answer is obviously yes because if they’d put it in without me knowing I wouldn’t fucking know it, would I?”
Karl Wiggins, Dogshit Saved My Life

Alicia Giménez Bartlett
“Volví a sentir lo que siempre siento en los aeropuertos: una enorme sensación de absurdo. Matrimonios ancianos de aspecto anglosajón, jóvenes ruidosos en pequeños grupos, hombres solitarios siempre consultando un ordenador, peruanos ataviados con su ropa étnica, un par de curas meditabundos, alguna mujer con dos o tres niños que se revuelcan por el suelo... ¿ádonde va toda esa gente, qué les llama a sus lugares de destino? Nada, mi impresión es que no hay nada real que les haga tomar un avión, y que si se hubieran quedado quietos en sus lugares de origen, la vida y el mundo seguirían exactamente igual. [...]
¿Por qué la presencia física de alguien parece ser tan importante en un mundo que se mueve a golpes de virtualidad?”
Alicia Giménez Bartlett, Nadie quiere saber