Best 111 quotes in «cars quotes» category

Adam offered a car key. 'Take my little red Honda. It's parked out front. When you finish with it, just tell it to go home. Don't be deceived by its modest appearance. It's fully shielded and equipped with enough gadgetry to tempt the ghost of James Bond.' 'Can it makes a vente triple-shot no-foam latte?' 'In a New York minute.' Ef took the key, kissed it, and headed for the front door.

A black Mercedes Benz 450 SL pulled up. It was your classic hood auto beloved of terrorists, pimps and African dictators.

A fast car can make women 'like' a man; and a man 'like' women … fast.

A lot of people run to see who's fastest, I merely run to feel the breeze.

Among all the machines, motorcar is my favorite machine.

All human males were as fascinated with cars as they were with breasts.

And they say women act on emotions when it comes to cars." - Simone Fortuna in Anti-Nice Guy: Rip by Kailin Gow

And then . . . we’re going to get in my car.” I waited for him to elaborate on a destination. “And?” He gently kissed the nape of my neck. “What do you think?” I couldn’t help a small gasp of delight. “Oh, wow.” “I know, right? I was racking my brain for the best present ever, and then I realized that nothing was going to rock your world more than you and me in your favorite place in the entire world.” I swallowed. “I’m kind of embarrassed at how excited I am about that.” Never had I guessed my love of cars would play a role in my sex life. Eddie was right. Something had happened to me. “It’s okay, Sage. We’ve all got our turn-ons.” “You kind of ruined the surprise, though.” “Nah. It’s part of the gift: you getting to think about it for the next three days.

Asking someone else to drive your sports car is like asking someone else to kiss your girlfriend.

Because he has finally realized that it is it and not him that is loved by the woman he loves, many a man is jealous of his own car, house, wardrobe, or salary.

A new car can be driven for 10 years or more if it’s properly maintained. Heck, drive that sucker into the ground before you replace it!

Bloomberg does not support the measure to silence the useless and maddening car alarm: he would rather impose himself on people than on mechanical devices.

But damn if there isn't anything sexier than a slender boy with a handgun, a fast car, a bottle of pills.

All the real blokes I know are obsessed with cars and have started doing cycling at the weekend and being really, really boring about it and banging on about their Fitbits and growing stupid beards and talking about being on Tinder. That's what all the 'real men' are like these days!

Beetles were made from 1938, in pre-war Nazi controlled Germany. The few actual civilian cars that were produced were used as staff cars and propaganda tools. It is a well known fact that not one of the original civilian orders for the cars were ever fulfilled, at least until the 1960’s when a law suit brought about a settlement for a small number of successful claimants.

Cars are empowered by either petrol or diesel or gas. That is their fuel. I don't care whether you want to pour pepper soup or orange juice into that car... It can't work! You can't live without intrinsic and extrinsic motivations and move forward

Everybody wants to be someplace he ain't.

Cars are a form of the Faraday cage.

Cars creeping the other way, fog lights as dull as dirty saucers.

Collision avoidance systems are the next big radio frequency (RF) toxin to hit the USA general population as they become standard safety equipment in most new cars.

Every wheel wish to be the wheel of a car, and not of just another vehicle.

Every twenty minutes on the Appalachian Trail, Katz and I walked farther than the average American walks in a week. For 93 percent of all trips outside the home, for whatever distance or whatever purpose, Americans now get in a car. On average, the total walking of an American these days - that's walking of all types: from car to office, from office to car, around the supermarket and shopping malls - adds up to 1.4 miles a week...That's ridiculous.

Experience: the vehicle of history. Teenagers: the driving force behind fatal accidents.

...for if a woman's body can attract the holy angels, how much more the unholy man.

For someone who likes to get around as much as I do, I really travel quite badly. Planes frighten me, boats bore me, trains make me dirty, cars make me car-sick. And practically nothing can equal the critical dismay with which I first greet the sight of new places.

For Americans, the car is the American way. Jay Gatsby roars through capitalism, individual freedom, and the good life. For China, the train is the metaphor. Everyone's on board, there's no chance to steer, and it's clickety-clack to collectivism's dreams.

He was conscious of a bliss that stole over him not infrequently now, had first stolen over him when he had first acquired this car, first bent over the bat-wing hood and seen the engine and drive-train, humble and useful like his own internal organs. It was a sense that at last what he knew of the world was sufficient to his being alive in it: that the world and what he knew of it were one. He called this feeling "growing up," and it did feel like growing, though in moments of mad elation he would wonder if what he was growing into weren't a Ford, or perhaps Ford: there was no other instrument, and no other man, so serenely purposeful and complete, August thought, so sufficient to the world and so self-sufficient: it would have been a destiny he could welcome.

Guns are like cars: you can trust a good used one better than one that's brand new.

I am so obsessed with the cars that sometimes I feel like my heart is not a muscle, it's an engine.

I am emotional about engines, if you hurt my car, you hurt my heart.

I don’t care about lots of money or materialistic crap, that stuff cannot make you happy. It can make you believe that you are happy for a little while, but it is not true happiness. Houses fall apart, vehicles break down, jewelry gets stolen and money certainly does not buy everything.

I don't understand this irony - valuable things like cars, gold, diamond are made up of hard materials but most valuable things like money, contracts and books are made up of soft paper.

I briefly consider keying her precious BMW, but quite frankly, I don't have the energy to go all Carrie Underwood on her ass. I still have over an hour drive ahead of me. -Jackson 'Blame It on the Pain

Hey, don’t knock it. It still runs. Most of the time, even after I turn it off.” Jo

Hey, Zee,” I said. “I take it that you can fix it, but it’ll be miserable, and you’d rather haul it to the dump and start from scratch.” “Piece of junk,” groused Zee. “What’s not rusted to pieces is bent. If you took all the good parts and put them in a pile, you could carry them out in your pocket.” There was a little pause. “Even if you only had a small pocket.” I patted the car. “Don’t you listen to him,” I whispered to it. “You’ll be out of here and back on the road in no time.” Zee propelled himself all the way under the car so his head stuck out by my feet. “Don’t you promise something you can’t deliver,” he snarled. I raised my eyebrows, and said in dulcet tones, “Are you telling me you can’t fix it? I’m sorry. I distinctly remember you saying that there is nothing you can’t fix. I must have been mistaken, and it was someone else wearing your mouth.” He gave a growl that would have done Sam credit, and pushed himself back under again, muttering,“Deine Mutter war ein Cola-Automat!” “Her mama might have been a pop machine,” I said, responding to one of the remarks I understood even at full Zee-speed. “Your mama . . .” sounds the same in a number of languages. “But she was a beauty in her day.” I grinned at Gabriel. “We women have to stick together.

If God sets your speed limit high, don't be afraid of your life-car being crashed.

If I had to own a car, I rather have a small one... A small trunk will constantly remind me to pack light and remain minimalist.

I dream of a small room and a man with one eye. Blood seeps like scarlet tears from his empty socket. I turn away and the room becomes a hallway that becomes a stairway that becomes a roof. The wind tugs at my body; the sky tries to wrap me in stars. Below me, a gazebo glows with red light. A line of black cars crawls like cockroaches through the streets. An air conditioner exhaust fan chitters angrily near the roof’s edge, one of its blades bent just enough to scrape against the side of the casing. For a second I let the wind push me close enough to the fan’s razor- sharp blades that a lock of my hair gets snipped and sent out into the night. As it twists and flutters toward the gazebo, I think about just letting go, letting the breeze carry my body into the whirling blades, the wind scattering pieces of me throughout the city. Blood and flesh seeping into the cracked pavement. Flowers blooming wherever I land.

I glared daggers at him, but they just bounced off him like water on a freshly waxed car.

If you’ve driven new cars all of your life, the term “used vehicle” may conjure up images of a dusty old beater with missing hubcaps and no A/C, dragging a clattering muffler down the boulevard. Yes, such cars exist, but I am not advocating that you buy one. Besides the embarrassment, there are also safety concerns and additional maintenance costs associated with clunkers.

I had a dream about you last night. We were in your old Civic. Nine Inch Nails was turned up on the stereo and I was taking pictures of you behind the wheel with my disposable camera. We went through the drive through at El Pollo Loco, placed an order for a hundred bucks worth of food, and then just drove off at the window. I miss being stupid with you.

Holy shit, she thought. The dragons are throwing cars at me!

“How many girls do you kiss against cars?” asked Echo in a clipped manner. My mouth gaped, but no sound came out. Rico and his two cousins cackled at my expression. I snapped it shut when Echo winked. Damn, I loved it when she dished it back.

I may add here that one of the secrets of my happy life is that i have never made the mistake of learning to drive a car. I have never lacked people, usually women, longing to drive me withersoever I wanted. Why keep bitches and bark yourself?

I'm not an expert of cars but I know how they make me feel.

In England on a hot day, women are happy to walk around with their bra straps showing. In Paris, they don't shave their armpits. And you just can't mention Germany and style in the same book, let alone the same sentence. It's the same story in America too, where the Farrah Fawcett haido of 1975 still reigns supreme. In Italy, even the policemenists look like they've just come off a catwalk. One I found, standing on a rostrum in the middle of a Roman square, was immaculate, as was his routine. Each wave of the hand, each toot of the whistle and each twist of the body was Pans People perfect. Never mind that the traffic was completely ignoring him, he looked good, and that's what mattered. Looking good in Italy is even more important than looking where you're going.

In Reacher's experience new Suburbans were driven by uptight assholes. But old models were plain, utilitarian vehicles often driven by plain, utilitarian people.

I remember forcefully explaining to a friend of mine how I hate cars with shifter gears. How I don't understand why anyone would choose the extra work when they don't need to. It's like buying shoes with laces. If I can get nice shoes without laces, why would I make life even harder for myself? Just another thing to deal with.

I remember our childhood days when life was easy and math problems hard. Mom would help us with our homework and dad was not at home but at work. After our chores, we’d go to the old fort museum with clips in our hair and pure joy in our hearts. You, sister, wore the bangles that you, brother, got as a prize from the Dentist. “Why the bangles?” the Dentist asked, surprised, for boys picked the stickers of cars instead. “They’re for my sisters,” you said. Mom would treat us to a bottle of Coke, a few sips each. Then, we’d buy the sweet smelling bread from the same white van and hand-in-hand, we’d walk to our small flat above the restaurant. I remember our childhood days. Do you remember them too?

It is proven that cars can affect your health.