Maserati Car Quotes

It’s getting closer,” Tristan said. Ayden nodded. “So let’s track it.” “No,” Ayden snapped. “She’s our priority.” “I know, but it’s following her, so,” Tristan held one hand up, “find the demon,” he held up the other, “find Aurora. It could work.” The itching intensified. Invisible claws grazed up the back of my neck, wrenching every nerve to painful attention. Another hungry screech sent spikes piercing my brain. Lights shattered my vision. I couldn’t breathe. I burst out of the suffocating space just as the engine roared to life and gunned the car forward. With a violent curse, Ayden slammed on the brakes but not before the Maserati rammed my hip. I hurtled into the air and rolled a fast spin onto the hood. “Or you could just hit her with the car,” Tristan said. “Real smooth.

Curran lunged at a silver Bentley. The hood went flying. He thrust his hand into the car. Metal screamed, and Curran jerked a twisted clump out of the hood and smashed it into the nearest car like a club. “Did he just rip out the engine?” I asked. “Yes,” Saiman said. “And now he’s demolishing the Maserati with it.” Ten seconds later Curran hurled the twisted wreck of black and orange that used to be the Maserati into the wall. The first melodic notes of an old song came from the computer. I glanced at Saiman. He shrugged. “It begged for a soundtrack.

But the Maserati wasn't listening to the likes of me. Cars know their class too.

When in Rome, Alexander," said Magnus, "one drives a Maserati." They had to get to Rome as fast as possible, and they couldn't use a Portal, so Magnus said he was selecting the next best option. Shinyun was reading the Red Scrolls of Magic and ignoring them both, which was fine with Alec. "An excellent choice," said the attendant at teh luxury car rental lot. "Gotta love a classic 3500 GT Spyder." Alec leaned into Magnus. "The car is also a spider?" Magnus shrugged, flashing Alec an irresistibly bright smile. "No idea. I just picked it because it was Italian and red.

The media reports from the day described the car as the love child of an Aston Martin and a Maserati. In reality, the sedan barely held together. It still had the base structure of a Mercedes CLS, although no one in the press knew that, and some of the body panels and the hood were stuck to the frame with magnets. “They could just slide the hood right off,” said Bruce Leak, a Tesla owner invited to attend the event. “It wasn’t really attached.

She let the car idle for a minute before easing it out of its tight parking spot. Heading in the same direction as Nick, she took the one-way side street toward Lake Shore Drive and caught up with him at a stop sign. She saw him glance at his rearview mirror, spotting her behind him. A few seconds later, her cell phone rang. When she answered, his whisky-rich voice came through the car’s speakers. “So I’ve been thinking about your question. My character has decided he doesn’t want to see other people.” “What made you change your mind? Let me guess—the Maserati.” He chuckled. “Our cover story is that my character has been smitten from the moment he met you. He’s not about to let another man get anywhere near you.” “Your character sounds a little possessive. Is this something my character should be worried about?” They came to a stop at the light that would take them onto the Drive. Nick’s voice was low, even smoother than the car’s engine. “I think your character secretly likes it. You’ve been dating boring, uptight guys for too long. You’ve been looking for something different.” Jordan looked sharply at the SUV in front of her. “I think your character presumes too much.” His eyes caught hers in the rearview mirror. “Does he?” The light turned green, and they drove off in opposite directions.

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!

The clientele of Twin Farms is more or less David Christiansen’s target audience. On a hazy May afternoon, I sit down with Christiansen in a glass-walled sales office at Walnut Creek Luxury Cars, a Northern California dealership where he is not a salesman but a “brand manager.” Our conversation is interrupted every few minutes by the guttural roar of a staffer firing up a Maserati Ghibli or Quattroporte to move it out of the showroom. He hardly notices, but I startle each time. I’m unused to such sounds, having arrived here in a Toyota minivan.

Most travellers here feel that driving in Rome qualifies as an experience that can be added to one’s vita, that everyday autostrada trips are examinations in courage and that the Amalfi coast drive is a definition of hell. “These people really know how to drive,” I remember him saying as he swung our no-power rented Fiat into the passing lane, turn signal blinking. A Maserati zooming forward in the rearview mirror blasted us back to the right lane. Soon he was admiring daring maneuvers. “Did you see that? He had two wheels dangling in thin air!” he marveled. “Sure, they have their share of duffers riding the center lane but most people keep to the rules.” “What rules?” I asked as someone in a tiny car like ours whizzed by going a hundred. Apparently there are speed limits, according to the size of the engine, but I never have seen anyone stopped for speeding in all my summers in Italy. You’re dangerous if you’re going sixty. I’m not sure what the accident rate is; I rarely see one but I imagine many are caused by slow drivers (tourists perhaps?) who incite the cars behind them.

During his career, he served as president of Ford Europe, director of global research and development at Mazda, and, for a year, chief executive of Maserati in a turnaround effort before it was split off from Ferrari and aligned with Alfa Romeo under Fiat. In 2004, Automobile magazine named Leach its Man of the Year, even though he was jobless after leaving Ford Europe as a result of, in his words, being “drawn into the political ping-pong initiated by Ford worldwide.” (Leach sued Ford in 2003 in a successful effort to prevent the company from enforcing a noncompete agreement.) “He’s a certified car nut, one of the very few visionaries of the trade, an excellent engineer and driver, a pragmatic team player, and a genuinely nice guy,” Automobile said.

In the back seat, Macanay was scanning the area through a pair of bulky Pentax binoculars. Next to him were pages of printed photos, most of them downloaded from social media accounts, of an olive-skinned young man in various posed shots. Here he was in a bath full of crushed ice with two barely dressed supermodels; here tugging on the lead of an illegally bought pet tiger cub; leaning idly on the fuselage of a private jet; or taking a draw from a hookah in the shape of a golden AK-47. There were also a half-dozen pictures of a crimson Maserati Ghibli, including blow-ups of the car’s number plate. Macanay’s silenced Beretta pistol sat on top of the pages to stop them slipping off the seat, and another identical gun was in the door compartment at Guhaad’s side, where he could reach it easily.

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