Chevy Truck Quotes

Inevitable pickup trucks complete with full gun racks, chainsaws, fishing poles, and big, sneering dogs in the back, line the streets and parking lots. Meek murmur of autumn skies, Ford and Chevy outfits to roll through town, as people get ready for a long, gray, foggy winter, big, four-wheel-drive pickups with snow blades attached, the box loaded down, with a high stack of cordwood topped by a huge elk carcass, to go disheartened in the midst of wretched weather, cold, raw, continually snowing.

He drove into the spewing smoke of acres of burning truck tires and the planes descended and the transit cranes stood in rows at the marine terminal and he saw billboards for Hertz and Avis and Chevy Blazer, for Marlboro, Continental and Goodyear, and he realized that all the things around him, the planes taking off and landing, the streaking cars, the tires on the cars, the cigarettes that the drivers of the cars were dousing in their ashtrays--all these were on the billboards around him, systematically linked in some self-referring relationship that had a kind of neurotic tightness, an inescapability, as if the billboards were generating reality...

About four months into it, we were shooting hoops in my dad’s driveway when Chip stopped in his tracks, held me in his arms, looked into my eyes under the starry sky, and said, “I love you.” And I looked at him and said, “Thank you.” “Thank you?” Chip said. I know I should have said, “I love you too,” but this whole thing had been such a whirlwind, and I was just trying to process it all. No guy had ever told me he loved me before, and here Chip was saying it after what seemed like such a short period of time. Chip got angry. He grabbed his basketball from under my arm and went storming off with it like a four-year-old. I really thought, What in the world is with this girl? I just told her I loved her, and that’s all she can say? It’s not like I just went around saying that to people all the time. So saying it was a big deal for me too. But now I was stomping down the driveway going, Okay, that’s it. Am I dating an emotionless cyborg or something? I’m going home. Chip took off in his big, white Chevy truck with the Z71 stickers on the side, even squealing his tires a bit as he drove off, and it really sank in what a big deal that must have been for him. I felt bad--so bad that I actually got up the courage to call him later that night. I explained myself, and he said he understood, and by the end of the phone call we were right back to being ourselves. Two weeks later, when Chip said, “I love you” again, I responded, “I love you too.” There was no hesitation. I knew I loved him, and I knew it was okay to say so. I’m not sure why I ever gave him a second chance when he showed up ninety minutes late for our first date or why I gave him another second chance when he didn’t call me for two months after that. And I’m not sure why he gave me a second chance after I blew that romantic moment in the driveway. But I’m very glad I did, and I’m very glad he did too--because sometimes second chances lead to great things. All of my doubts, all of the things I thought I wanted out of a relationship, and many of the things I thought I wanted out of life itself turned out to be just plain wrong. Instead? That voice from our first date turned out to be the thing that was absolutely right.

It’s all my fault,” Ashley sobbed. “What if she’s dead?” The four of them were squeezed tightly into Etienne’s truck. With every shift of the clutch and each turn of the wheel, Etienne’s right arm jabbed sharply into Miranda’s side, and Ashley bounced back and forth between Miranda’s lap and Parker’s. The old Chevy truck, way past its prime, rattled and clanked and groaned at every pothole and puddle, but it hugged the roads like glue. “It’s not your fault,” Parker reassured Ashley for the dozenth time. “You didn’t know what she was planning to do. How could it be your fault?” “The water always gets so deep at the Falls. The bayou always floods. If she’s dead--” “She’s not dead.” He paused, then mumbled, “I couldn’t be that lucky.” “Parker Wilmington, I can’t even believe you said--” “I was kidding, Ash. Okay, sorry, bad timing, but I was kidding, okay? Roo’s fine. And none of this is your fault.” Gulping down a hiccup, Ashley glared at him. “You’re right. It’s your fault.” “My fault?” “You know she caught you drinking in the parking lot!” “Just a little! I swear, I only had one sip--” “You’re heartless and insensitive, and you hate my sister.” “Christ, Ashley, I don’t hate your sister--” “You told her I care more about you than I do about her, and that’s not true!” “I know it’s not--and Roo knows it’s not. It was a joke! I wasn’t serious!” “I’m always defending you, and Roo’s always been smarter than me. Roo would never get involved with somebody like you.” Parker shot Etienne another helpless glance. “Is that good or bad?” “I wouldn’t be doing any more talking right now, if I were you,” Etienne advised him. “Roo looks out for me. Roo has better sense than I do,” Ashley went on miserably. “It’s always been that way, ever since we were little. She’s always had the brains. And I’ve always had…not the brains.” Etienne’s eyes and Parker’s eyes met behind Ashley’s back. “Not going there,” Etienne mumbled.

Bubba was amazed that after everything he had gone through, that it turned out to be so damned easy.  Not only was it easy but the pair of murdering would-be thieves got to dig up a rotting 1946 Chevy truck.  One of his great-uncles, who had supported the Republican candidate, Dwight E. Eisenhower, had stolen it from the governor of Texas

Still, to me, the bottom line wasn’t about the Dark Book at all. It was about uncovering the details of my sister’s secret life. I didn’t want the creepy thing. I just wanted to know who or what had killed Alina, and I wanted him or it dead. Then I wanted to go home to my pleasantly provincial po-dunk little town in steamy southern Georgia and forget about everything that had happened to me while I was in Dublin. The Fae didn’t visit Ashford? Good. I’d marry a local boy with a jacked-up Chevy pickup truck, Toby Keith singing “Who’s Your Daddy?” on the radio, and eight proud generations of honest, hardworking Ashford ancestors decorating his family tree. Short of essential shopping trips to Atlanta, I’d never leave home again. But

The club owns a legit security company that travels alongside semi-loads of expensive goods to guarantee that the truck makes it to point B from point A without any problems. People don’t know it, but trucks being jacked for their loads happens more often than one would think. The security company is a ride-along bouncer.

She liked to think things through sometimes, his Mercy. But she put a hand on his leg and he wished for the Chevy truck he’d driven in high school because it had had a bench seat. Eventually she said, “It was easier when I was mad at you. I can’t shake the feeling that this is stupid.

He maintained a full grip on the knife handle, curling his thumb around the handle instead of leaving it up and exposed to potential injury. It was also more difficult for an attacker to take the knife away. Not that Liam was worried about that with these jokers. Baseball Cap was the closest thug. He was taking a break from the beating and had stepped back to light a cigarette. His head was bowed, both his hands up and cupped around the cigarette at his mouth. His baseball bat leaned against the opened door of the truck. Out of reach. Liam took several swift and silent strides. He approached Baseball Cap from behind, grabbed his head, and drove the knife upwards from the top of his spine into his brain. Baseball Cap dropped like a stone, instantly dead. The cigarette dangled from his dead lips. Liam stepped back and let him fall. It took a second for the two remaining hostiles to react. Liam didn’t waste that second. The man in the hunting cap whirled, a startled look on his face. He started to raise his baseball bat, but Liam was already on him. He smashed into the man’s chest and drove him back into the side of the Chevy. Hunter let out a pained oomph. The third hostile would be reacting now, too, ready to charge Liam at any second. He needed to move fast. Hunter pummeled at his ribs. Liam took the blows. Hunter tried to push him off, shove him away so he could get some leverage and get a good punch in, use the baseball bat. Liam didn’t let him. Using his left arm to deflect any potential blows, he used his right hand to slash the knife across the side of the hostile’s throat, severing his carotid artery. He stepped back fast but the arterial spray still got him. Hunter slid down the side of the truck, flailing, gasping. He’d be dead in a few minutes.

The boys walked into the gym, where hundreds of Navajo filled the stands, even three hours before their game. Players spotted mothers and grandparents, uncles and aunties and cousins, brothers and sisters and neighbors, folks who’d piled into old pickup trucks and vans and Chevy sedans to make that three-hour drive. There were Chinle stars who graduated last year and the year before that and the decade before that, young men who bathed still in past glory. There was Cecil Henry, a nearly sixty-year-old silversmith with a rakish mustache and an easy smile and a mighty thirst for the bottle, who crafted and sold beautiful jewelry to tourists on the floor of Canyon de Chelly. He once played high school basketball and ran like a deer and was related to a few of the Wildcats. He’d stuck out his thumb and hitchhiked here from Chinle.

If you can’t find a place for something, maybe it doesn’t belong onsite at all. No matter how useful an item may seem, if you don’t use it, consider letting it go. Open space provides room for new ideas, and someone else may need just that item for a special project. Sometimes surplus stuff represents things you think you want to do with your life but haven’t made the time for. Perhaps it’s time to admit to yourself that you may never actually restore that old Chevy truck, and maybe you’d rather have the driveway for a greenhouse instead.

You run on along now. Don’t you have a bible study somewhere you should be at?” Arguing with him was pointless. He would just start throwing out more snide comments until he had me so mad I couldn’t see straight. I pressed the gas and turned into the parking lot. Like I was going to be able to just leave and let him drive home drunk. He could infuriate me with a wink of his eye, and I worked real hard at being nice to everyone. I scanned the parked cars for his old, black Chevy truck. Once I spotted it, I walked over to him and held out my hand. “Either you can give me the keys to your truck or I can go digging for them. What’s it going to be, Beau? You want me searching your pockets?” A crooked grin touched his face. “As a matter of fact, I think I might just enjoy you digging around in my pockets, Ash. Why don’t we go with option number two?” Heat rose up my neck and left splotches of color on my cheeks. I didn’t need a mirror to know I was blushing like an idiot. Beau never made suggestive comments to me or even flirted with me. I happened to be the only reasonably attractive female at school he completely ignored.