Not Another Superhero Quotes

“There are things in life worth dying for. Toothpaste isn’t one of them. Freedom, justice, truth—these are virtues mankind has sacrificed to obtain. Or protect. Or propagate. They are ideals worthy of blood when little else is. Wars for these virtues are honorable. Idealized. For higher causes and the greater good. They draw the maiden to the hero, the hero to the battle lines, and the coward to obscurity. And they have nothing to do with toothpaste, but toothpaste is what had me in this mess.”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“I blame this entire night on my underwear. They were my laundry day pair, the pair you wear when all others are in the wash. Last year an old college girlfriend had gotten the man of her dreams. Because I agreed to stand next to her wearing a dress the color of phlegm, she gave me personalized undies. Not that I’m fatalistic, but when I opened her gift, my first thought had been, What if I die wearing these, and this is how they identify my body? Across”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“I glanced around the geriatric lighting in the alley for anything I could use as a weapon. All I spotted was a crumpled McDonald’s coffee cup and a hailstorm of cigarettes. If I could get him to smoke them, I could take him out with coronary heart disease in twenty to twenty-five years.”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“Sarah had the look of a Disney heroine with the cunning of a car salesman. With her blond hair, wispy figure, and doe eyes, no one would guess we met at a Def Leppard concert in high school when she plowed a drunk guy unconscious with a Coke bottle. In her defense, he was coming on to me at the concession stand and wouldn’t take “no thank you” as my polite southern way of saying “Get lost.” In”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“The crinkly paper stuck to my legs. I picked up my leg, peeled the paper off, and set my leg back down. The tissue paper stuck to it again. I hated doctors’ offices. I hated the dignity-thieving gowns, the lack of good reading material, the stark whiteness and blindingly bright lighting. I hated waiting to get into a room, only to wait to see the doctor and then wait as he or she found excuses to leave. I hated that the air conditioning, no matter what time of year, was kept at fifty-eight degrees. I hated needing to be at a doctor’s office, which meant being trapped in a body going haywire. Most of all, I hated the tissue paper. No”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“In a normal employer/employee relationship, I would be fired about now, but we weren’t normal. I’ve been trying to get myself fired for years, and she refuses to do it out of spite.”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“Would you calm down? Stop fighting me.” His arms pinned mine to my body. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” “Don’t do that. Don’t ever do that. No grabbing.” I twisted as hard as I could to get free, but his hands were cement. “If you’ll stop fighting me, I’ll let you go.” I got an elbow free and jabbed him again. He let out a breath and mumbled something like “That was my pancreas” before tightening his grip. “You’ve gone completely mad, you know that?” He was onto something there. I had no idea why I was fighting back so hard. Maybe because it was the first time tonight I could. “If you’ll stop poking me with those freakishly bony elbows of yours, I’ll let you up.” “Fine.” “Fine?” “Great.” “Good.” His grip relaxed, but he didn’t let go, instead resting one hand on my left hip. My hurting hip. “Now,” he took on a paternal tone, “while in this moment of lucid behavior, you need to know it’s never wise to sneak up on a guy while he’s keeping watch.” “You were sleeping.” “It’s sleeping watch.” I snorted at that. “It’s possible.”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“Exactly like earlier, he slept sitting up, like a dyslexic bat. Slits of flirtatious moonlight eased between the miniblinds from the window behind him and traced admiring lines across his shoulders. Rhythmic inhales and exhales raised his chest. He slept, the first evidence of his humanity. I reached out to touch one moonbeam on his face. There’s no reasonable explanation for why I did this. Because I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t completely awake. I was a slave to my curiosity. Or because he was there. If a Porsche is running with the keys inside and the door open, you climb in and take it for a drive. Because it’s there. Before I could find out what that moonlight felt like, calloused hands gripped my arm and yanked me down on top of him. So I screamed. “What is wrong with you, woman?”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“People were all puzzles. Some twenty-piece pictures of Big Bird. Some two-thousand-piece pictures of the ruins of Athens. Some crosswords. Some Rubik’s cubes. All mysterious to some degree or for some time. Jackson was more enigmatic than most.”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“It happens sometimes, Samantha. The brain denies access. Give it a little more time. It might come back to you.” That could be true. My brain was in overload. But if I wanted access, shouldn’t my brain allow it? Unless I didn’t really want to know what I thought I wanted to know, which, in fact, I actually already knew but didn’t know I knew it. I had such a headache.”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“Once you set an exit door in motion, it stays in motion. That’s Samantha’s law of leavers.”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“The city had moved. No buildings had been torn down, no roads repaved, no stores expanded—at least not in the last few hours—but my view had changed. The entire city had picked up the pavement, parks, and structures like a southern belle gathering her pleaded skirts and shuffled two steps to the left.”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“I darted my head around, looking for anything to stand behind. Or crawl under. Or crawl into. It was a cemetery—you’d think there’d be plenty of places to hide a body.”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“A brilliant collaboration of headlights and spotlights illuminated the scene. The eerie lighting cast long, angular shadows of the erect headstones, as if a dinner party of slender evening guests were socializing in the background. From the corner of my eye, the shadows swayed like curious spirits dancing the night away until the live people left.”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“Must I go over this again? I can walk.” No, I couldn’t. “I was an early walker.” I wasn’t. “I’ll give you my mom’s number.” I wouldn’t. “You can call her to confirm.” Good luck. One more attempt, and Jackson gave up. I wouldn’t say he scooped me into his arms; that isn’t exactly how it went. I stumbled when he leaned down. I bumped his forehead with my knee. Then I elbowed him in the head when he lifted me up. Up, however, I was. And soon, too, could be my lunch. “Just relax.” Jackson stretched a kink I’d put in his neck. “Sorry about your head.” I mumbled around the saliva flooding my mouth. He popped it once. “It’s still attached.” “Positive thinker.” I took a deep, calming breath. “I hate those.” The”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“He leaned in. “You still with me?” I tried that blinking thing as a response. He didn’t catch it. “You stopped talking. Are you still with me?” I licked my lips, feeling a desperate need for water. Or bourbon, which I also couldn’t remember, but I was willing to be reminded. “I told you the blinking wouldn’t work.” “No, you didn’t.” “Then who was I talking to?” “When?” “When I said it.” “You didn’t.” “I just did.” “But not before.” “You aren’t making any sense.” “No,” he leaned forward. “That’s you.” “That’s me what?” “Not making sense.” “When?” “Since you said it.” “You said I didn’t say it.” “You didn’t say it before.” “I already have one headache. Why are you trying to give me another?” “I’m not.” “You are.” “Sorry, honey.” He didn’t sound sorry. “Don’t call me that.” “What should I call you?” “Samantha works. For you, Miss Addison would be better.” He settled back on his heels. “Good.” “What? What’s good?” Then it hit me. “Oh! Samantha! That’s my name! Samantha Addison!” Taking a relieving breath, I honed once again on that face. “You did all that on purpose.” “What?” “Annoyed me,” I squinted up at him. “You were messing with me on purpose.” “Your blood pressure needed to be elevated, so I elevated it.” Funny bastard.”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“Here’s the odd thing about death: it feels like life on a crappy day.”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“His head tilted, as if he used his brain like a magic eight ball by shaking the dark liquid inside and seeing what banal answer floated to the top.”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero

“Bank robbers are, I assume, under a time crunch. There are silent alarms to consider, not to mention security guards, cameras, marked bills, and the patience of your average getaway driver. Mugging needn’t be done in haste. Here was a man with no tomorrow and no end to today. We had all night.”
― Tara Lynn Thompson, Not Another Superhero