Lamborghini Quotes

In my first video diary I explained my love for women who have a taste in carrots. Since then, I have received plenty of carrots. Now I also have a keen interest in women who like Lamborghinis.

You know your Lamborghini is on fire, right?

Knock, knock. (Desiderius) Now, ain't this a bitch. Here I am, trying to kiss my girl, and you have to interrupt us. What, were you raised in a barn? By the way, touch the woman, or the Lamborghini, and you're a dead man. (Kyrian)

And not a single mark on the Lamborghini. Ha! Eat steel, you soul-sucking bastards! (Kyrian)

Didn't I tell you not to touch the Lamborghini? (Kyrian) (Hunter groused an instant before he cut the wheel and sent the vampire flying through the air.) And they told me you guys couldn't fly. (Kyrian)

Girl, it's an umbrella, not a Lamborghini,

You’re wet already, Stella. You’re like a Lamborghini. Zero to sixty in two point seven seconds.

Hey, great idea: if you have kids, give your partner reading vouchers next Christmas. Each voucher entitles the bearer to two hours' reading time *while the kids are awake*. It might look like a cheapskate present, but parents will appreciate that it costs more in real terms than a Lamborghini.

And just like you, I will die at some unknown date in the future. I just come equipped with a few extra powers. (Sebastian) I see. I’m a Toyota. You’re a Lamborghini.(Channon)

The better you get, the less you run around showing off as a muscle guy. You know, you wear regular shirts-not always trying to show off what you have. You talk less about it. It's like you have a little BMW - you want to race the hell out of this car, because you know it's just going 110. But if you see guys driving a ferrari or a lamborghini, they slide around at 60 on the freeway because they know if they press on that accelerator they are going to go 170. These things are the same in every field.

Nick sat on the stairs, completely comatose. He stared straight ahead as if he'd been frozen in place. "Nick? You all right?" He didn't respond. Kyrian moved around him until he stood in front of him. He snapped his fingers in front of Nick's face. "Kid?" Nick blinked before he met Kyrian's gaze. "I'm not worthy," he said in a breathless tone. Baffled by his comment, Kyrian stared at him. "What?" Nick gestured towards his cars. "Dude that's a Ferrari, Lamborghini, Bugatti, Alfa Romeo, Aston Martin, and a Bentley. And I'm not talking the cheap models. Those are the top of the top of the top of the line, fully loaded. I swear, that's real gold trim in the Bugatti. There's more money in metal in here than my brain can even tabulate. Oh my God! I shouldn't even be breathing the same air." Kyrian laughed at his awed tone. "It's all right, Nick. I need you to clean them." "Are you out of your ever-loving mind? What if I scratch them?" "You won't" "Nah I might. Those aren't cars, Kyrian. Those are works of art. I'm talking serious modes of transportation." "I know, and I drive them all the time." "No, no, no, no, no. I can't touch something so fine. I can't" Kyrian cuffed him on the shoulder. "Yes, you can. They don't bite, and they need to be washed.

Take care of your car in the garage, and the car will take care of you on the road.

He was Lenin in a Lamborghini. He was Gandhi with a gun

Kid?” – Kyrian “I’m not worthy.” – Nick “What?” – Kyrian “Dude, that’s a Ferrari, Lamborghini, Bugatti, Alfa Romeo, Aston Martin, and Bentley. And I’m not talking the cheap models. Those are the top of the top of the top of the line, fully loaded. I swear, that’s real gold trim in the Bugatti. There’s more money in metal in here than my brain can even tabulate. Oh my God! I shouldn’t even be breathing the same air.” – Nick

Oh, man. I’m not interested to driving the Lamborghini. I’m more interested in making Lamborghini. That’s what creativity means to me.

If you've ever stood in the presence of a Lamborghini Gallardo Superleggera and not gotten a tingly sensation in your naughty bits, you have to be very young, very old, or completely fucking blind.

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

If you’re a humble believer set on doing your deity’s will, then what are you doing spending the take on Lamborghinis and single malt?

Money can't buy you happiness, but it can buy you a Lamborghini. If you aren't happy with that I don't know what else.

If the counselor ever wrote a book about her experience as a marriage counselor she would probably mention it: I once had a patient who treated his car more tenderly than he treated his wife. (No need to mention the car was a Lamborghini, otherwise all the male readers would say, “Oh, well, then.”)

In May 2020, a five-year-old US boy was pulled over by Utah police while driving his parents’ car “to California to buy a Lamborghini”. The boy had $3 in his pocket.

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

Tax troubles aside, Sunny was proud of his wealth and liked to broadcast it with his cars. He drove a black Lamborghini Gallardo and a black Porsche 911. Both had vanity license plates. The one on the Porsche read “DAZKPTL” in mock reference to Karl Marx’s treatise on capitalism. The Lamborghini’s plate was “VDIVICI,” a play on the phrase “Veni, vidi, vici” (“I came, I saw, I conquered”), which Julius Caesar used to describe his quick and decisive victory at the Battle of Zela in a letter to the Roman Senate.

Among all the machines, motorcar is my favorite machine.

asumir la distorsión, asimilarla, y devolverla multiplicadamente

Baby, you’re ass-up in red heels over the hood of a Lamborghini. You think I’m missing this opportunity? Now hold still while I knock you up.

father shredding the side of my car like a block of cheese with his Lamborghini.

Work until you feel Lamborghini is cheap...!!!

They don't make them," I told her. "Because people who can afford Lamborghinis aren't sitting around watching television.

Have you ever seen a bumper sticker on a Lamborghini?

I’m not having much of a life. It’s not awful, just ordinary. I am trying to accommodate the memories of the life I had with the life I am now living, and I just can’t do it. After being behind the wheel of a Lamborghini going 140 down Sunset Drive at four a.m., it’s hard to get up and put on a polyester shirt and sell books at Barnes and Noble. But I’m not ashamed of it.

In the 1940s, getting a Westmore brother for your studio makeup department was like getting a Lamborghini (a very expensive status symbol that definitely performed well, but was still sort of douchey).

25 a.m. I now know all the types of intestinal worms you can get and how to get them. 12:27 a.m. How to get Genevieve to drink from muddy swamp water? How to ensure the swamp water sample contains eggs of flukes? 12:33 a.m. How to get water from a lake containing Guinea worm, surely the Lamborghini of parasitic worms?

Richard Branson's Thoughts While Drinking Coffee at the Ritz I can't decide whether to buy an Aston Martin One-77, a Saleen S7, a Ferrari Enzo, a Leblanc Mirabeau, a Lamborghini Reventon, a Bugatti Veyron 16.4 Grand Sport or a Koenigsegg CCXR. Hmm... What the hell, I'll get them all. It's good to be a fucking billionaire.

There’s a line by the Italian writer Carlo Levi that I think is apt here: “The future has an ancient heart.” I love it because it expresses with such grace and economy what is certainly true—that who we become is born of who we most primitively are; that we both know and cannot possibly know what it is we’ve yet to make manifest in our lives. I think it’s a useful sentiment for you to reflect upon now, sweet peas, at this moment when the future likely feels the opposite of ancient, when instead it feels like a Lamborghini that’s pulled up to the curb while every voice around demands you get in and drive. I’m here to tell you it’s okay to travel by foot.

Teatro Proletario de Cámara

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

Rasgué, sin embargo, todos los tapices a mi alcance. A traición, claro que a traición. Mutilé las bordadas escenas del bien y del mal, deformé su sentido, mordí algunas con mis dientes mellados. A traición. Salía un juguito dulzón, asqueroso y de rechupete y con sabor dulzón. A traición.

Kilgore here will keep the record straight.” “Kilgore?” “The tape recorder. I name things. If you name things, then you treat them better.” Fiona motioned with her chin to a poster tacked to the opposite wall. “Does she have a name?” “She” was a bikini-clad model spraying a Lamborghini with a garden hose and, no, she didn’t—at least, not one I knew. I lowered my eyes. “We’ll call her Prudence, then,” Fiona said. “Now whenever you wake up, you can say, ‘Good morning, Prudence, how’s tricks? Still in the car washing game, I see.’” “‘How’s tricks’?” “‘How’s things,’” Fiona explained. “Slang from the good ol’ days. I learned it from a kid in a newsie cap.” “A newsie cap?” “We’re getting ahead of ourselves.

I left you with my address and you wrote me a gorgeous letter, but you included a photograph of yourself in a blue Polo shirt. "In front of my car," you'd written on the back, and the car was a cherry-red Lamborghini, but it was clearly also in motion, driving away from you. I was naïve but not entirely so, and it made me sad to think that you believed I'd believe this. And so I never answered, and I never discovered whether your gentleness that afternoon was truly kindness for a bedraggled stranger, or whether you were the predator two decades have taught me you might have been. But this is the power of memory: the person who owns it can morph it to her desire. I'd like to judge you for the intense courtliness with which you treated me, the conversation, the sunlight in which we sat. I won't ever know the truth, but I choose to believe you were good and that your arrival took me away from worse. So thank you, Enrico Ferrante, for what didn't happen, for what you didn't do, for what I didn't find in that menacing dreamland of Palermo, for the way your gentle intervention sent me away.

The picture is nevertheless complicated in Britain – at home, if not in its former empire – and might provide some of the reasons why white people here sometimes find terms like ‘white supremacy’ and ‘white privilege’ either inapplicable to Britain or hard to understand. First, Britain never practised open white supremacy on domestic soil as it did in the colonies, so those of us who hail from the colonies have a different understanding of British racial governance, even if we were born here. Second, the most deprived and violent regions of Britain remain areas that are almost exclusively white, such as the rough parts of Glasgow, Belfast and north-east England, a subject to which we will return later. Can the white people who burned to death in Grenfell Tower along with the ‘ethnics’, or were crushed to death at Hillsborough and then demonised in the press as thieves, or the dead at Aberfan, be said to have had ‘white privilege’? I can totally see why this might at first seem absurd to some people. Especially in relation to Kensington and Chelsea, where the working-class Muslim population in the north of the borough so visible during the Grenfell fire contrasts sharply with another large population of Muslims in the south of the borough who hail from the Gulf states, and are rich enough for the paupers to know not to aim their hatred of Muslims at them as they drive up Kensington High Street in their Louis Vuitton-patterned Lamborghinis.

The highway that takes travelers from Abu Dhabi to Dubai is clean and fine. Illuminated at night by cat's eye reflectors, it's a highway designed for machines, where Lamborghinis speed, why the desert got bisected, why the camels were fenced out. But Chainsmoke couldn't be bothered. He spent his trip napping on a stranger's shoulder, dreaming about money. He woke to honks. There had been a pileup not far from the Jebel Ali zone. A trailer overturned. Happened too quickly for the brakes to even matter for the cars behind. The smaller cars got smaller. Bodies lay where they landed, most still inside battered vehicles, like bits of fish. The ambulance had not yet arrived. A young Emirati left his Land Cruiser to direct the traffic. Chainsmoke looked at his watch, estimated the number of vehicles, how slowly they crawled. "Could we make it in 45 minutes?" Chainsmoke bellowed. The driver shrugged his shoulders. "Patience boy," said the stranger whose shoulder he napped on. "Anything can wait after children have died.

If after we go public I see any lamborghinis in our parking lot, you better buy two of them because I’m going to take a baseball bat to the windshield of any parked here.

If you’ve ever stood in the presence of a Lamborghini Gallardo Superleggera and not gotten a tingly sensation in your naughty bits, you have to be very young, very old, or completely fucking blind.

Dubai Police have a 217 mph Lamborghini Aventador LP 700-4. This is very useful in high speed pursuits. The only problem is that there is only two seats, making it impractical for carrying the criminals. And so, Dubai Police held a meeting and came up with a practical solution. A four seat solution. A Ferrari FF.

Leo nodded. He felt sympathy for Frank, but the guy didn’t make it easy when he talked about his family mansion. Sort of like saying, I crashed my Lamborghini, and waiting for people to say, Oh, you poor baby!

For the billionaires, champagne baths every morning and new Lamborghinis every afternoon couldn’t deplete the fathomless amount of cash on hand. “Your entire philosophy of money changes,” writes author Richard Frank in his book, Richistan. “You realize that you can’t possibly spend all of your fortune, or even part of it, in your lifetime, and that your money will probably grow over the years even if you spend lavishly.” There are dotcom entrepreneurs who could live top 1 percent American lifestyles and not run out of cash for 4,000 years. People who Bill Simmons would call “pajama rich,” so rich they can go to a five-star restaurant or sit courtside at the NBA playoffs in their pajamas. They have so much money that they have nothing to prove to anyone. And many of them are totally depressed. You’ll remember the anecdote I shared in this book’s introduction about being too short to reach between the Olympic rings at the playground jungle gym. I had to jump to grab the first ring and then swing like a pendulum in order to reach the next ring. To get to the third ring, I had to use the momentum from the previous swing to keep going. If I held on to the previous ring too long, I’d stop and wouldn’t be able to get enough speed to reach the next ring. This is Isaac Newton’s first law of motion at work: objects in motion tend to stay in motion, unless acted on by external forces. Once you start swinging, it’s easier to keep swinging than to slow down. The problem with some rapid success, it turns out, is that lucky breaks like Bear Vasquez’s YouTube success or an entrepreneur cashing out on an Internet wave are like having someone lift you up so you can grab one of the Olympic rings. Even if you get dropped off somewhere far along the chain, you’re stuck in one spot. Financial planners say that this is why a surprisingly high percentage of the rapidly wealthy get depressed. As therapist Manfred Kets de Vries once put it in an interview with The Telegraph, “When money is available in near-limitless quantities, the victim sinks into a kind of inertia.

That’s all right, pay no attention to me, just make yourself at home,” I tell the self-propelled whoopee cushion, then audit the itemized receipt with a sinking heart. Judging from the bottom line, cats fall somewhere between a new Porsche and a used Lamborghini in running costs, and I’ve got a nasty suspicion that I’m not going to be able to expense this claim. I mean, I might be able to concoct an experimental protocol that involves hosting one all-black specimen of Felis catus in the lap of luxury before sacrificing it on a summoning grid—but I suspect that would annoy Trish, and one should always avoid pissing off the departmental secretary.

Story 6: Ferrari In 1948, a peasant farmer started a business making tractors. Within five years this man – Ferruccio – was one of the richest men in Italy. He amassed a fine collection of cars – Alfa Romeos, Maseratis, Lancias – but his heart belonged to his Ferraris, of which he owned six. Just one thing bothered him: all of his Ferraris had clutch problems. One day in his workshop he discovered why: the clutch in his Ferraris was the same part he used in his tractors. Ferruccio complained to Enzo Ferrari, who replied: “Ferruccio, you may be able to drive a tractor but you will never be able to handle a Ferrari properly.” Ferruccio was furious. He vowed to make a car worthy of beating a Ferrari. And as it happens, that’s exactly what he did. He took his revenge by creating one of the most powerful, well renowned cars in the world. The farmer’s full name: Ferruccio Lamborghini. How to use this story This story works well any time you’re working on a goal that some people doubt can be achieved. It’s good for encouraging your audience to dig deep and prove the doubters wrong!

A world that confuses luxury with success, has absolutely zero understanding of the human condition. That's why they idolize rich and filthy celebrities with private jets and rolls royce, as some sort of demigods. If this is your idea of success, then you guys are more disgustingly primitive than the wildlife in the amazon. At least, wild animals don't pretend to be civilized. Riches maketh filth, filth pursue riches. To live a life of luxury, or to dream of a life of luxury, doesn't make us ambitious, it only exposes the moron that we are. A species that has not realized simplicity as the way of life, will never in a million years have a society without disease and disparity. I won't mince my words, and tell you straight. Wanna be a decent human being? Stay away from luxury. Because luxury is a violation of human rights, human health, and above all, human character. It's funny really! Some people can't afford two wholesome meals a day, while others live with a private airport in their backyard. Some parents work their butt off to keep the clothes on their children's back, while others shower their kids with lamborghinis and teslas. If this doesn't open your eyes, perhaps you should try lobotomy. I'm sure you can find some unlicensed surgeon somewhere who'd do it for you if you offer them a trip to the bahamas, or better yet, a trip to space in your own spaceship.

Condu un Porsche, chiar și la 80km/h, și te vei simți mai atrăgător - și mai dispus la o experiență sexuală întâmplătoare. Deoarece bărbații sunt programați să se reproducă agresiv, omului cavernelor din noi i se face foame de acel Rolex sau de Lamborghini - sau de Apple. Și pentru că gândește cu organele genitale, omul cavernelor va sacrifica foarte mult (va plăti un preț irațional) pentru șansa de a impresiona. Produsele de lux nu au un sens din punct de vedere rațional. Dar nu ne putem desprinde de dorința de a fi în apropierea perfecțiunii divine sau de a procrea. Când luxul are efect, actul de a cheltui devine el însuși parte a experienței. Cumpărarea unui colier cu diamante din portbagajul unei mașini, chiar dacă pietrele sunt veritabile, nu este la fel de satisfăcătoare ca o achiziție de la Tiffany, de la o consultantă de vânzări bine îmbrăcată și care prezintă colierul vorbind în șoaptă sub lumini strălucitoare. Luxul este echivalentul pe piață al penelor de pe o pasăre. Este irațional și sexual și domină cu ușurință semnalele raționale și enervante ale creierului - cum ar fi „Nu îți permiți asta” sau „Asta nu are niciun sens”.

Look at these lines! Look at them! I look like a Lamborghini with boobies!

Or consider how we citizens of rich countries obtain our oil and minerals. Teodoro Obiang, the dictator of tiny Equatorial Guinea, sells most of his country’s oil to American corporations, among them Exxon Mobil, Marathon, and Hess. Although his official salary is a modest $60,000, this ruler of a country of 550,000 people is richer than Queen Elizabeth II. He owns six private jets and a $35 million house in Malibu, as well as other houses in Maryland and Cape Town and a fleet of Lamborghinis, Ferraris, and Bentleys. Most of the people over whom he rules live in extreme poverty, with a life expectancy of forty-nine and an infant mortality of eighty-seven per one thousand (this means that more than one child in twelve dies before its first birthday).

They were nothing more than modern day pagan worshippers. Congregants of a religion built on greed and hedonism. The trading floor served as their shrine; the phones as their Holy Grail; and the clients as the prophets who would entitle them to choose between putting the next down payment on a Lamborghini or a Mercedes

getting angry is not always a bad thing,we would not have had lamborghini if it was not for the anger he had on ferrari

I love the wheels, I mean steering wheel.

I, too, was taken aback by this turn of events. I was speechless. My mind raced to find a possible answer. Finally, I muttered apathetically, “If I’m to be a kept boy, I’ll expect to be housed in a luxury penthouse, not in a run-of-the mill flat. “Secondly, I’ll want a top-of-the-line sports car –a Ferrari or a Lamborghini, not a city car. “Last but not least, I’ll insist on a healthy remuneration to keep me in a princely style.”               Andy stared at me as if I was a whoreson, while Uncle James broke out in comedic exuberance. Shocked by my uncle’s boisterous outburst, my lover gaped, not knowing what to make of my guardian. “You can take the boy out of China, but you can’t take China out of the boy,” the Englishman vociferated hilariously.               My chaperone scrutinized my uncle, wondering if the man had lost his mind. He waited for James’ laughter to subside. “What are you talking about?” he expressed.               I twittered, “In the event that you’ve lost your mind, sir, I’m not from China. I’m from Malaya.”               James iterated enthusiastically, “Nevertheless, you, young man, are Chinese. Having dealt with Chinese businessmen for most of my life, you are a true-to-form Chinese.” He resumed, “Like the Hong Kong Chinese I’ve dealt with over the years you are an excellent negotiator. You’ve inherited your parents’ genetic ability to strike an optimum bargain to your advantage.” He paused. “In all seriousness, I think your counter-suggestions may be just the ammunition you’ll need to fend off Mossey. That is, if you desire to forgo his offer,” he opined.               Quick-witted Andy responded cheerfully, “What an awesome idea. I’ll be more than happy to draft the counter-proposal for you, my lovely one.” For the most part, I’d been a silent observer of this imprudent frivolity. I answered calmly, after giving the matter some thought, “I’ll sleep on this and have answers for you before our return to Daltonbury Hall.

Andy remained seated. I chirped, “Sir, please tell me the reason for your visit. My guardian is fully aware of your proposal.” Struck by my candidness, Ozwalt stammered, “Very well, I will tell you the reason I’m here,” he raised his voice in displeasure. “Your counterproposal is deplorable!” My lover remarked aggressively, “What’s deplorable about Young wishing to be kept in the style he is accustomed to?” The Englishman exclaimed, “He’s not even of age to drive, and he wants a Lamborghini or a Ferrari? What is he thinking?!” “You offered him a city car,” my Valet countered. “He has every right to ask for what he desires.” The man repudiated defensively, “I offered him a city car upon his coming of age to drive, not before!” He was seething with anger. “Atop this, he demands a luxury penthouse in Mayfair or Park Lane, not to mention the live-in personal tutor! Is he insane? Most adults wouldn’t be able to afford a luxury flat and experienced educator, let alone an adolescent who is barely out of his teens.” “Sir, if you do not have the financial capabilities to accommodate the boy’s expectations, there are others who are perfectly capable of doing so,” my chaperone asserted. “Andy! Are you telling me that the lad has other well-endowed suitors willing to pay for such frivolousness?” My lover and I sniggered at the Englishman’s comment, but we managed to suppress our mirth. My guardian answered solemnly, “That, Sir, is none of your concern. I presume you’re here to discuss Young’s counterproposal, not the proposals of his other suitors.” He was taken aback by my mentor’s forthrightness. He raised his voice in retaliation. “I’m here to talk to Young. I would like Young to speak for himself.” I spoke unrelentingly, “I have asked Andy to negotiate on my behalf. I have heard everything he has said and challenge none of it. If my terms are not met, I’m afraid our arrangement is over. There is no further need for discussion.” By now, Ozwalt was on fire. He waved his fist at me and shouted, “You rapacious whore! You’re nothing but a self-indulgent sybaritic slut from a third-world country!” Before he could continue lambasting me with further insults, Wilhem entered. “What’s going on here?” my big-brother questioned. Mossey resumed berating my integrity, calling me a barrage of repugnant names while my chaperones carted him off the campus grounds to his waiting chauffeur and Bentley. Groups of students stood gaping at the wild man, speculating about the nature of the ruckus they were witnessing.

It wasn’t that he cared particularly for the world.  Except for Lamborghinis.  And Star Wars—well, Darth Vader anyway.  And ice cream.

Во время съемок программы Motorworld мы проехались по горным итальянским деревушкам в составе целой кавалькады. Впереди на Ferrari 355 рассекал я, затем двигался наш директор на Bugatti ЕВ110, а замыкал процессию продюсер, мчавшийся на фиолетовом грозовом облаке под названием Lamborghini Diablo. Для обычного человека встреча даже с одной из этих машин становится впечатлением на всю жизнь, а увидеть все три сразу, да еще на улице своей родной деревни — это как однажды вечером вернуться домой и найти у себя в комнате комету Галлея. При виде «феррари» люди выбегали на улицу, при виде «бугатти» они начинали восхищенно кричать, а при виде «ламборгини» некоторые даже падали в обморок от восторга. Если бы такая кавалькада проехала через английскую деревню, то сельсовет немедленно созвал бы на митинг всех жителей до последнего пастуха, и они в гневе постановили бы не только построить объездную дорогу, но и понатыкать на главной улице метровой высоты «лежачих полицейских».

If you’re going to learn how to drive, it might as well be in a Lamborghini, right? What the hell are you thinking, woman?

The Italians are responsible for Fiat, Ferrari, Lancia, Alfa Romeo, De Tomaso, Lamborghini, Maserati and Pagani. It wouldn’t seem so unfair if they weren’t also really good at food, art and fashion. Selfish. That’s what it is, it’s selfish.

matte-black Lamborghini Urus

Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Rolls-Royces—the whole aristocratic fleet.

America is rated 37th in the world for quality of health care. It’s basically a third world country with iPhones and Whole Foods. The American health care system is very similar to insuring a family car - except you’re charged Lamborghini rates. It costs several thousand dollars per year and there’s generally a deductible. Americans can’t wrap their head around a system based on paying less and having everyone covered, because they’re happy to pay more if it means someone else doesn’t get it for free. Fuck Timmy. His parents shouldn’t have had a child if they can’t afford to insure it. This isn’t a village.

If he was a car he'd be a Lamborghini Huracán Evo," Zara mused. "Pure combustive drama, traffic-stopping looks, and a wild, unfettered soul hidden beneath sensational styling." Zara loved sports cars, not only for their mouthwatering designs but also for the speeds that could take her breath away. "I think he has hidden depths. If he wasn't so grumpy, he'd be intriguing.

...el fantasma del niño proletario de Osvaldo Lamborghini se presentaba en un salón donde sus tres asesinos, ya hombres maduros, hablaban sobre política [...] En un principio parecía que el fantasma había regresado para vengarse, pero lo único que quería en realidad era que alguno de los tres políticos le diera un trabajo.

GROVER GETS A LAMBORGHINI

He steps into the brand-new coffee shop on the corner, one of those joints that specify the growers and regions and acidity levels of their humanely sourced fair-trade beans. He orders a three-dollar macchiato from an alarmingly muscled and extravagantly tattooed woman wearing a wifebeater and a skullcap, operating a machine that bears more than a passing resemblance to a Lamborghini, house music thumping at seven-thirty a.m., a miasma of patchouli.

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When it feels like you're losing friends, remember that successful individuals have only a few trusted companions. They often encounter hostility. That's why a Lamborghini has two seats while a bus has thirty. Train your mind to stay positive.

purchased my first Lamborghini and completed the prophecy dreamt in my teens.

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I pray tithes don’t go to Lamborghinis, rather to repairs of the poor’s shanties. I pray tithes don’t go to jet plane buying, rather to hunger- and sickness-healing. I pray tithes don’t go to royal mansions, rather to ridding of destitution. I pray tithes don’t go to huge church buildings, rather to all oppressed needing freeing.

What’s more, if there was anything likely to draw attention, it was Sunny’s Lamborghini in the parking lot.

The Aventador is insane. This is the Aventador’s lean mean weightlifting uncle. At $4,500,000 you wouldn’t expect anything less than amazing. This is jaw dropping. Lamborghini built only five examples. 2 for itself and 3 for customers. The first with red

To defend their basking in luxuries, buying private jets and Lamborghinis, living in mansions with rooms of thirty, preachers would teach, “God wants us all wealthy.” And so their fans aim for goods of the world, most of prayers become requests for gold, life’s goal has become “to amass,” not share, God becomes “Lord of Self-seekers,” not care.

Mong Kok is where old, traditional Hong Kong and the contemporary, future-leaning city collide like a speeding Lamborghini into a bus full of retirees on their way to a bingo parlor,

Jeremy George Lake Charles Sports Car Collector His collection includes several Lamborghinis, including one from the late 1960s and early 1970s, as well as a number of other rare models. His collection of 40 cars includes a Porsche 911 GT3 RS, a Mercedes-Benz SLS AMG and a Ferrari 458 Italia. Jeremy George Lake Charles Other cars in his garage include a Ford Mustang, an Aston Martin Vantage, two Porsche 918 Spyders and two Rolls-Royce Phantom IIs. This extraordinary collection of cars included a 1964 Ferrari 488 GTB with Stirling engine and four-speed manual transmission, an original Lotus Elans and an early Ferrari F40. The Boxster is generally a great sports car, but the 718 badge certainly makes it a classic of the future. This collector's car is always the one I see lined up in front of me, and I have seen the owner pull the car out of the car every weekend with a sense of pride. The Type R will probably be a lethal collector's car that we will see for many years to come. He is a collector of cars, which is something I'm not sure what to do. M is for sure it will be in a few years. Jeremy George Lake Charles Another advantage of owning sports cars is that most eventually become collectibles. For the super-rich, though, there are some amazing car collections on the list of collectibles, but I can't remember all of them for that long. It should come as no surprise, then, that Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum, the owner of the world's largest collection of sports cars, has 7,000 cars, including cars from brands such as Ferrari, Porsche, Mercedes-Benz, Audi, BMW and Porsche. Sheik Mohammed has taken 19 years to sort through his entire collection because he has to drive different cars every day from now on.

Maserati or a Lamborghini, but Percy admitted he had neither. The Prius was the only car his family owned. I mean…wow. Just wow.

渥太华留学退学办UO毕业证Q微202 661 4433办理高仿渥太华毕业证假文凭、购买加拿大假本科学位UO毕业证、如何办加拿大高仿文凭渥太华大学毕业证成绩单认证书。 HASGSHGVSBSVSBSVSBNSVBNSVSNBSVSNBSVBSNSVBNSVSBNSVBN If you have a newborn, you’ve probably rushed to their nursery at least once, panicking, to check if they’re still breathing. Maybe you’ve done this once per night. According to Today’s Parent, checking your baby for signs of life is… If there was concern that the electrification of automobiles wouldn’t hit the mainstream, this week definitely squashed those worries. The big news is that Ford unveiled details about the electric version of its incredibly successful F-150 pickup. Then Kia took the wraps off the EV6, Lamborghini announced a plan to electrify its lineup, and McLaren shared details about its upcoming hybrid, the Artura. Plus, Toyota is finally updating the Tundra after what feels like decades.

The second novel that’s truly frightened me (and this time the fear is much stronger, because it involves pain and humiliation instead of death) is Tadeys, the posthumous novel by Osvaldo Lamborghini. There is no crueller book. I started to read it with enthusiasm — an enthusiasm heightened by Lamborghini’s original prose (with its sentences like something out of Flemish painting and a kind of improbable Argentine or Central European pop art) and guided as well by my admiration for César Aira, Lamborghini’s disciple and literary executor as well as the author of the prologue to this unclassifiable novel — and my enthusiasm or innocence as a reader was throttled by the picture of terror that awaited me. There’s no question that it’s the most brutal book (that’s the best adjective I can come up with) that I’ve read in Spanish in this waning century. It’s incredible, a writer’s dream, but it’s impossible to read more than twenty pages at a time, unless one wants to contract an incurable illness. Naturally, I haven’t finished Tadeys, and I’ll probably die without finishing it. But I’m not giving up. Every once in a while I feel brave and I read a page. On exceptional nights I can read two.

From the earliest I remember, I was car obsessed. I ate, slept, and drank cars. Naturally, I was desperate to learn and passed my driving test at seventeen. Two weeks after, I passed my race license. I loved it; in the first twelve months of driving, I covered 25,000 miles for no reason other than I enjoyed it. After passing my race test, I got my instructor’s card and became a self-employed racing driver at the age of eighteen. I worked for two local companies that did driving experiences with customers. I was paid to drive Ferraris and Lamborghinis on a racetrack. Yes, I was paid to drive exotic cars most people dream of sitting in, let alone owning. And I was paid well for it. In the first three years of being licensed, I owned fourteen different cars, sometimes three cars at the same time. All of my earnings went to my cars, and I loved life. I could work at whatever racetrack I wanted. Sounding more like a success story, right? I worked in that industry for four years, and by the time it was over, I HATED driving. The one thing that defined me—my love of cars—was absolutely killed by that job. Everyone who got in a car with me said I had the best job in the world, and for a while, I agreed with them. But after 30,000 laps on the same track, I can tell you I want nothing more to do with them. I did that job because I loved driving cars. I didn’t do it because I loved hospitality or the thrill customers received. I did it because I drove cars I couldn’t afford. I was in it for the wrong reasons. Don’t “do what you love,” because even if you are lucky to make a living doing it, you won’t love it for very long. You should love the value you create. The process is hard, but it’s justified by your love of the value that is created through it.

China today is riven by contradictions. It is the world’s largest buyer of Louis Vuitton, second only to the United States in its purchases of Rolls-Royces and Lamborghinis, yet ruled by a Marxist-Leninist party that seeks to ban the word luxury from billboards. The difference in life expectancy and income between China’s wealthiest cities and its poorest provinces is the difference between New York and Ghana. China has two of the world’s most valuable Internet companies, and more people online than the United States, even as it redoubles its investment in history’s largest effort to censor human expression. China has never been more pluralistic, urban, and prosperous, yet it is the only country in the world with a winner of the Nobel Peace Prize in prison.

The best part of being a valet is getting to drive some of the coolest cars ever to touch pavement. Guests came in driving Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Rolls-Royces--the whole aristocratic fleet. It was my dream to have one of these cars of my own, because (I thought) they sent such a strong signal to others that you made it. You're smart. You're rich. You have taste. You're important. Look at me. The irony is that I rarely ever looked at them, the drivers. When you see someone driving a nice car, you rarely think, " Wow, the guy driving that car is cool." Instead, you think, "Wow, if I had that car people would think I'm cool." Subconscious or not, this is how people think. There is a paradox here: people tend to want wealth to signal to others that they should be liked or admired. But in reality those other people often bypass admiring you, not because they don't think wealth is admirable, but because they use your wealth as a benchmark for their own desire to be liked and admired. The letter I wrote to my son after he was born said, "You might think you want an expensive car, a fancy watch, and a huge house. But I'm telling you, you don't. What you want is respect and admiration from other people, and you think having expensive stuff will bring it. It almost never does--especially from the people you want to respect and admire you." It's a subtle recognition that people generally aspire to be respected and admired by others, and using money to buy fancy things may bring less of it than you imagine. If respect and admiration are your goals, be careful how you seek it. Humility, kindness, and empathy will bring you more respect than horsepower ever will.

Dollar of Disparity (The Sonnet) Millions of people go without food, For some privileged nimrods to afford their luxuries. Millions of people have no access to essentials, So that celebrities can buy their lamborghinis. The difference between phony activists and a reformer, Is not in what they say but in their lifestyle and action. In a world that still suffers from the lack of essentials, Indulgence in luxury is human rights violation. What people do with their money is not a private affair, Each penny above necessity belongs to social welfare. One who talks of equality while riding in a Rolls Royce, Is the last person to be concerned of people's despair. None has a right to luxury till all can access necessities. Every dollar spent on luxury is a dollar of disparity.

Men don’t have a reason any more. No one wants us. Why should they? What can we do? We have no job, no home to go to. It’s been taken away. Small wonder then that all that is left for us is to turn in upon ourselves, to clutch at the few things that give us meaning, hope. Money is one thing. Football is another. Football with money does it big time. But football is made up by men like us now, not like men of my father’s years. They have no idea who they are, where they are meant to go either. Call it sport. There was sport to it once, where sport was the point. The point now? What is the point, exactly, of this beautiful game? See them on the pitch, biting each other, pulling at each other’s shirts, kicking and scratching, flying tackles, jabs in the elbow, feigning injuries, bellowing obscenities at the ref: see them later, off the pitch, urinating in hotel plant pots, wrecking Indian takeaways, abusing shop owners, brawling in night clubs, gang-banging under-age groupies, punching unwilling women in the face; see them beating their wives, breaking their girlfriends’ arms, standing outside their ghastly houses with their Doric columns and Lamborghinis, driving to each other’s hideous celebrity-strewn weddings. Be worthless now, that’s all you can be. The age of the bully is upon us.

Smith in his book and with his life is telling us how to live. Seek wisdom and virtue. Behave as if an impartial spectator is watching you. Use the idea of an impartial spectator to step outside yourself and see yourself as others see you. Use that vision to know yourself. Avoid the seductions of money and fame, for they will never satisfy. How to be virtuous is not so obvious, and that comes next. But I want to close this chapter with Peter Buffett, the man who ended up selling his Berkshire Hathaway stock for $90,000 and giving up the $100 million he could have had in order to pursue a career as a musician. A few years ago, Peter Buffett reflected on his decision to sell his Berkshire Hathaway stock to pursue his dreams in his memoir, Life Is What You Make It. He claims to have no regrets. But could a life as a successful musician possibly be worth giving up $100 million? Wouldn’t $100 million be even more pleasant? Then you ask yourself—what could he have with the extra millions? A nicer car? He could have a Lamborghini Veneno Roadster that retails for about $4 million. Or he could settle for the lovely Ferrari Spider, at $300,000; he could have a couple of those. He could have a mansion you and I can only imagine, anywhere in the world. Like Onassis, he could own an island or two rather than enduring the indignity of visiting an island in the Mediterranean, say, and having to share it with others while staying at a nice hotel. Could those physical pleasures possibly be worth sacrificing the life in music that he dreamed of and ultimately achieved? I think Peter Buffett got a bargain. He gave up $100 million and got something—hard as it is to imagine—that was even more precious. A good life. I think Adam Smith would agree with me.

Aww, man, you’re one of those money-doesn’t-buy-happiness types, aren’t you?” “And you’re one of those, it’s-better-to-cry-in-a-Lamborghini-than-on-a-bus types, huh?

You let your smile shine from your soul.” Violet’s love-laden voice wrapped around me. “You let courage beam from your heart. The night is yours, honey. You drive this auction like it’s a Lamborghini.

8. If your child finds your choice of a pale blue Lamborghini “so Miami Vice” and is vocal about their embarrassment at being seen in it, willingly concede to their demand to be dropped around the corner from school, out of sight, rather than directly at the gates. But then, after waiting a short while, follow them round to the entrance, hooting, waving, and calling “good-bye” loudly as they go in.

I KNOW HOW MUCH money my family has. In abstract terms, at least, I know that it is in the billions. Alex got a Lamborghini Gallardo for his eighteenth birthday; Charlie got a Friesian horse from the tooth fairy. Hell, she got two whole houses as wedding gifts. And without really batting an eye, I agreed to pay Anna a hundred thousand dollars to tell a lie. I know the absurdity; I can see it, even if sometimes only in theory.