Aston Martin James Bond Quotes

This is an Aston Martin, Gin.You don't run over dead bodies in an Aston Matin." "Tell that to James Bond

You could just run over him," I said. "He's already dead, and it's not like you haven't done it before." "Yeah, but I don't want bloody bits of dwarf stuck on my wheels for the next two weeks." Finn sniffed. "This is an Aston Martin, Gin. You don't run over dead bodies in an Aston Martin." "Tell that to James Bond." Finn shot me a dirty look as he pulled out onto the street.

Please, please, you have to, I never ask you for anything, please just do it." "What are you talking about? You always ask me for everything." "Okay, then, but you always do it, so don't change the rules now." He knows its true. That's just the way they work. As much as he grouses and sneers and makes a big show of authority, he can't deny the kid a thing. If he wants a vintage Aston Martin so he can play at being James Bond, he gets one. If he wants to go one top, he can. He says he's never been to Africa and Lindsay goes online and books flights that same day to Morocco because he wants to see the smile when he presents Valentine with tickets. When the kid suggests setting a camcorder up in the bedroom so they can watch the tape back later and laugh at their stupid sex-faces, Lindsay goes along with it, wincing all the way, because he always says no and he never really means it in the end. This is love, he supposes, and it's mental.

The torpedo launch console has big square plastic buttons—Flood Tube, Open Shuttle, Ready to Fire—that flash red or green, like something Q would have built into James Bond’s Aston Martin. The missile compartment has similarly retro-looking panels of buttons. They provided the setup for one of the more quotable things Murray said to me—a line that, were fewer precautions in place, could have joined “Houston, we’ve had a problem” or “Watch this” in the pantheon of understated taglines for calamity: “I wouldn’t lean on that.

Beta Males make excellent spies. Not the “James Bond, Aston Martin with missiles, boning the beautiful Russian rocket scientist on an ermineskin bedspread” sort of spy—more the “bad comb-over, deep-cover bureaucrat fishing coffee-sodden documents out of a Dumpster” spy.

My God…Nora,” he breathed at the sight of the inferno-red machine. He’d never been much of a car enthusiast but something very male in him wanted to just run his hands across it from fender to fender. “Once upon a time,” Nora began, “I spent a week with a sheikh. This was his version of morning-after roses.” “You just keep this in your garage?” “What? Just your everyday Aston Martin.” “This is James Bond’s car.” “Yes, but he can’t have it back. Don’t tell, but I’m going to give it to Wes as a graduation present in a couple of years.” “If you ever fire him and start looking for a new intern…” Zach reached out and touched the hood. “I’ll keep your résumé on file,” Nora said, looking at him as he stroked the top of the car. “You’re hard right now, aren’t you?” “Fully erect.” Zach didn’t crack a smile. “Typical male.” Nora rolled her eyes. “Get in.