A Quote by Martin Campbell

I always look at these superhero films, and I see people hurdling towards at a hundred miles per hour, and then they get up, shake their head, and charge back at a hundred miles per hour. Nobody seems to really get injured or hurt. I don't find any threat in that. There is no tension in that whatsoever.
Downhillers are going over 110 miles per hour. But no matter what, you can't hit the fence at 100 miles per hour.
I'm like a rocket - I go a hundred miles per hour.
I'm not that patient sometimes. I'm like a rocket - I go a hundred miles per hour.
The reason we tend to support Republicans is they're taking us toward the cliff at only 70 miles per hour miles an hour and the Democrats are taking us 100 miles an hour.
The last time I was pulled over was in 2005. I was going 55 in a 35 mile per hour zone - which I don't understand because you can barely even idle at 35 miles per hour. Anyway, I was ordered to go to traffic school. It was an 8-hour class and really painful.
I want to die at a hundred years old with an American flag on my back and the star of Texas on my helmet, after screaming down an Alpine descent on a bicycle at 75 miles per hour.
Garcia wondered why people with JESUS stickers on their bumper always drove twenty miles per hour under the speed limit. If God was my co-pilot, he thought, I'd be doing a hundred and twenty.
The horse seemed to bend time and space as he ran, blurring the landscape and making Frank feel like he'd just drunk a gallon of whole milk without his lactose-intolerance medicine: "Seven hundred and fifty miles per hour. Eight hundred. Eight hundred and three. Fast. very Fast.
We were concerned with having good songs, not just songs that go two hundred miles per hour.
Well, Amber [Heard] is still raising her eyebrow at me because I said that I've been 180 miles per hour on the 405 freeway on a motorcycle and she doesn't believe me but it's a true story. I did it coming home from work at 3 in the morning on another movie I made about cars called Gone in 60 Seconds. I bought a Yamaha-1 and I was doing 180 miles per hour home on the 405 and that's really, really crazy but I did it.
Racquetball is the only sport where simultaneously you can be looking at the ball and it'll hit you in the back of the head at 90 miles per hour.
There, gleaming in the glow, was that ten-horsepower rotary engine under a seat. A key glistening in the ignition. I imagine the top speed for that old mower was five miles per hour. It might have taken an hour and a half or more for me to get to the liquor store, but get there I did.
I was always the kind of hitter that if you threw it 92 miles per hour at me, I'd hit it right back at you.
I can do the equivalent of 150 miles per hour and not get stopped. I could quite happily pursue people down the motorway in my helicopter.
A sneeze travels at a peak velocity of two hundred miles per hour. A burp, more slowly; a fart, slower yet. But a kiss thrown by fingers- its departure is sudden, its arrival ambiguous, and there is no source that can state with authority what speeds are reached in its flight.
We just have to go at 100 miles an hour in all our businesses, be they television broadcasting, be they magazine publishing, be they subscription television, be they online, be they gaming. We just have to go at one hundred miles an hour.
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