Audi Love Quotes

We get given our faces, thinks Audie, but we inherit our lives, our happiness and our unhappiness. Some get a lot, some get a little. Some savor every morsel and suck the marrow out of every bone. We take pleasure in the sound of rain, the smell of cut grass, the smiles of strangers, the feeling of dawn on a hot day. We learn things and realize we can never know more than we don’t know. We catch love like a cold and cling to it like wreckage in a storm.

It’s funny, Matt, everyone thinks Roman’s a nickname--but it’s not, it's just my name. We've got military names way back in our clan. I've got Great-Granddad Grant and Great Uncle Sherman and Uncle MacArthur and Cousin Audie and Cousin Achilles. No," he mused, "Roman's not a nickname. A nickname would be–oh, I don’t know, something like ... Caesar or something! The mighty Roman! ~ Roman Meister, nickname-loving manager of the San Carlos Coyotes in The Mighty Roman, broadly hinting for a nickname of his own.

We'd already had sex enough times for my body to feel like his and his mine, really nothing new there, but we both had low self-esteem, regularly felt suicidal compulsions, were bullied as kids, and pretentiously enjoyed arty films and books while hating basic crap like Haruki Murakami, Hong Sangsoo, French literature, and Audis, all of which made us end up thinking we were something special as a pair.

...she could move Audie, who felt as though he was staring into the depths of a well. All he had to do was fall.

I love the wheels, I mean steering wheel.

Jucikas typed in a query, and a list of links popped up. He clicked on one of the many people who went by that name in Nebraska – and there was everything about her, right up on the screen. Here’s her photo, here’s where she works, here’s her house. Here are her kids, this is where they go to school, this is the car she drives. She voted for Mitt Romney in 2012, she loves Katy Perry, she drives an Audi, she’s a bit basic … and on and on and on. We knew everything about her – and for many records, the information was updated in real time, so if she posted to Facebook, we could see it happening.

Jane had been in New York for ten years at that point. She’d moved there after college, still believing that her life would unfold in a certain order. First, she would launch her career, then, after a series of difficult but teachable-moment love affairs, she would meet The One—her future mate—and settle down somewhere outside the city where they would spawn beautiful, gifted children. Later, when said children grew up and went to college at a school that looked exceptionally good on a bumper sticker on her Audi, Jane would spend the rest of her days writing novels and tending to her yard in Eileen Fisher clothes, her face set in deep thought like a kind of Pema Chödrön for the biracial set. She would age gracefully as a rich Buddhist.