Top 98 Driveway Quotes & Sayings - Page 2

There are a lot of perks that come with fame and with every positive there's a negative and then it all kind of balances out. The travelling is great. You get to see so many different places but there's a downside; having everything splattered across every media resource that exists, being chased by photographers and have them sit at the end of your driveway every day. But it all kind of balances.

What does the Right have to show for eight years of a Republican presidency? I supported George W. Bush in 2000 because I thought he had a conservative bone in his body somewhere. I supported him in 2004 because I thought him the lesser of two evils. At this point, I wouldn't let the fool park his car in my driveway. Bruce Bartlett was right, every damn word.

The harsh reality is that America moves on four wheels, powered by conventional internal-combustion engines. At this point, while the elite media (excluding Newsweek) trumpet the benefits of hybrids and Ford and Toyota plan to lead the nation into a low-powered, high-mileage hybrid Utopia, the multitudes remain loyal to the gas-guzzling family bus in the driveway.

At Car and Driver, we were convinced that the automobile, as we knew and loved it, was as dead as the passenger pigeon. Ralph Nader was at full cry, ringing his tocsin of automobile doom into the brains of the public, convincing them that the lump of chrome and iron in the driveway was as lethal as a dose of Strontium 90 or a blast from a Viet Cong AK-47.

You're not allowed to park a truck in your driveway. You're not allowed to work on your house on Sunday. The people who enforce these laws are nuts. After I wrote a column on this, I got I don't know how many letters from Coral Gables homeowners, story after story after story, wonderfully horrible stories. And the venom they felt for their own government!

My real dream is to have a whole, like, buy a whole piece of land. Imagine, like, a long driveway. Like, a cul de sac-type street, with maybe, like, seven houses. Me be right here. Have my mom be able to be right here. My brother over here. My girl's grandmother and family right here. Friends over there. That's my real dream.

It was the first fight I had with my father. My father basically said, why are you going to business school? You're just going to get married and have kids and you won't use your degree. And it's expensive. We had a knockdown, drag-out fight, which was great. Yeah. In the driveway. My father said, 'You're on your own.'

"...piling up zeros in your bank account, or cars in your driveway, won't in and of itself make you successful. Rather, true success is based on a constant flow of giving and recieving. In fact, if you look up affluence in the dictionary, you'll see its root is a Latin phrase meaning "to flow with abundance". So in order to be truly affluent, you must always let what you have recieved flow back into the world."

It's amazing--my parents call everything a discussion. If I were standing across the street, firing a bazooka at my mother, while my father was launching mortar back at me, and Jeffery was charging down the driveway with a grenade in his teeth, my parents would say we should stop having this public "discussion".

Football, you can go out and buy a football and play it in your backyard. Basketball, you can go out and play it in the schoolyard or in your driveway. Baseball, you get a glove and a bat and a ball and you go out and play in the neighborhood. You can't do that in hockey.

My SUV, assuming Hummer comes out with a model for those who find the current ones too cramped, will look something like the Louisiana Superdome on wheels. It'll guzzle so much gas as I walk out to my driveway there will be squads of Saudi princes gaping and applauding. It'll come, when I buy it, with little Hondas and Mazdas already embedded in the front grillwork.

One day, when I came home from work, I accidentally put my car key in the door of my apartment building. I turned it, and the whole building started up. So I drove it around. A policeman stopped me for going too fast. He said, "Where do you live?" I said, "Right here!" Then I drove my building onto the middle of a highway, and I ran outside, and told all of the cars to get the hell out of my driveway.

I had a '69 Road Runner when I was a kid. I had it for 13 days, came home one day, and my parents were in the driveway. They said, 'Meet the new owner,' because they'd gotten phone calls about me burning rubber for the last 12 days. They thought I'd wrap it around a tree, and it was too much car for a 16 year old.

When they separated, the freckleless spot between Pete's eyes was bright red. Before anything else could be said or done, May grabbed her bike and hopped on. She waited until she was six houses down to turn and see if he was still standing in the driveway watching her. He was. She stopped for just a moment, and they caught each other's eyes. Then he slowly started walking backward toward the house. May couldn't see that well, considering that her eyes were still a little blurry and he was far away, but it looked like he was smiling.

My new apartment might be a place where there are lots of children. They might gather on my porch to play, and when I step out for groceries, they will ask me, "Hi, do you have any kids?" and then, "Why not, don't you like kids?" "I like kids," I will explain. "I like kids very much." And when I almost run over them with my car, in my driveway, I will feel many different things.

In my 30s, I wrote in the back house of a ramshackle Spanish Revival we rented across from the ocean in the Santa Monica Canyon. I wrote thousands of pages there, but in order to see another adult human being, I had to steal out through the brambly side of the house, along the driveway down to the street.

It's like before my wife and I moved. Our house was full of boxes and there was a U-Haul truck in our driveway. My friend comes over and says Hey, you moving? Nope. We just pack our stuff up once or twice a week to see how many boxes it takes. Here's your sign.

I never seem to find what I'm looking for, though. I suppose I feel, these days, too aware of schedules and things, to let myself get lost in the rain. Anyway, I came back home, and it was still raining, and as I was approaching the driveway of the house, and the front garden with its bushy flower bed, I caught a cooking smell from somewhere on the air. I don't know why, exactly, but it appealed to me as a Nagai Kafu moment.

She was getting used to his rhythms and his moods, recognizing the quiet signals that telegraphed who he was. Good and bad, strengths and faults, he was hers forever. As she pulled into the driveway, she spotted Logan coming down the steps from the house, and she waved. She was his forever, too—imperfect as she was. Take it or leave it, she thought. She was who she was. As Logan walked toward her, he smiled as if reading her mind and opened his arms.

I had blackouts, fallen out, of course, the death threats, people showing up, putting guns to my wife's head with mask, and people having shot guns in the driveway, looking for me or announcing that I've already died before lectures and sending it through newspaper - sending it to newspaper columns they send my mother and so on. There's a real night side to my particular calling, which is try to bear witness to love and truth.

I vividly remember hearing the car pull into the driveway and looking into the mirror on my mom's vanity with a face full of makeup and the counter below me a mess; it sent me into complete panic mode. From there, I would steal bits of makeup where I could to start my own little collection and play in my bedroom with the door locked.

We had almost like our own little sports complex at the house. The driveway was like the pitching mound. We used to play one-on-one street hockey right there. My dad wanted to make sure we were ready to have some fun, so he was always out grabbing sports equipment.

This is the autumn of wonders, yet every day, every single day, I go back to that burned afternoon in August when T. Ray left. I go back to that one moment when I stood in the driveway with small rocks and clumps of dirt around my feet and looked back at the porch. And there they were. All these mothers. I have more mothers than any eight girls off the street. They are the moons shining over me.

Jesus and Paul were serious dudes. They had teeth missing. Jesus was a carpenter, Paul was in prison. These guys didn’t eat tofu dogs and bean sprouts. They didn’t play tennis. If there were trucks back in their times, they would have been doing driveway lube jobs on a Saturday afternoon. Same thing with King David. Yeah, he might have played a lyre, but he slaughtered thousands of guys.

When it came to basketball, I was a fanatic. I started to focus solely on basketball the summer before my freshman year in high school. I worked on my shooting in the driveway, drawing up charts where I recorded each day's performance. I spent hours working alone on ball-handling. I ran five miles a day and played games against my friends.

Looking for the essence of beauty is comprehending and appreciating that quality in an object which is fairer and better than only what our eyes see or our ears hear, whether that be a patch of blue in an overcast sky, the fleeting laughter from a voice we love, or something as unexpected as the rainbow colors in a spot of oil on the driveway.

There are random moments - tossing a salad, coming up the driveway to the house, ironing the seams flat on a quilt square, standing at the kitchen window and looking out at the delphiniums, hearing a burst of laughter from one of my children's rooms - when I feel a wavelike rush of joy. This is my true religion: arbitrary moments of of nearly painful happiness for a life I feel privileged to lead.

She wondered: How could people respond to these images if images didn't secretly enjoy the same status as real things? Not that images were so powerful, but that the world was so weak. It could be read, certainly, in its weakness, as on days when the sun baked fallen apples in orchards and the valley smelled like cider, and cold nights when Jordan had driven Chadds Ford for dinner and the tires of her Chevrolet had crunched on the gravel driveway; but the world was fungible only as images. Nothing got inside the head without becoming pictures.

I only wanted Uncle Vernon standing by his own car (a Hudson) on a clear day, I got him and the car. Ialso got a bit of Aunt Mary’s laundry and Beau Jack, the dog, peeing on the fence, and a row of potted tuberous begonias on the porch and 78 trees and a million pebbles in the driveway and more. It’s a generous medium, photography.

Whatever cleaning goes on on the planet, women do 99% of it. But see, women are not as proud of their 99% as men are of our one! We clean something up, we're gonna talk about it all year long. It might be on the news, you don't know. A woman could be out re-paving the driveway. Men actually have enough gall to run out on the porch and go "Hey baby? Man, it's hot as hell out here, ain't it! Look, don't worry about emptyin' that ashtray in the den, I done got it, all right? Did it for you, sweet pea. I'm gonna go take a nap now, all right?"

When I read the pilot for Married with Children, it just reminded me of my Uncle Joe... just a self-deprecating kind of guy. Hed come home from work, and the wife would maybe say I ran over the dog this morning in the driveway. And he would say Fine, whats for dinner?

She sits in the driveway, freezing, for thirty-six minutes. Arguing with herself. Because she thinks she's in love with him too. And there are two ways she can be a fool in love right now. She chooses the harder one. And knocks on the door.

When I read the pilot 'for Married with Children', it just reminded me of my Uncle Joe... just a self-deprecating kind of guy. He'd come home from work, and the wife would maybe say 'I ran over the dog this morning in the driveway'. And he would say 'Fine, what's for dinner?

This is what makes me happy: ...Any music-free restaurant ... A grandson who offers to clean the snow off my driveway and also fix my computer ... An evening in bed with a good book. ... A good night's sleep ... As you can see, it doesn't take much to make me happy.

All right." He straightened up and seemed to be true to his promise to let it go. "I will be a man about this." That lasted until he saw the scratches on the hood from the mountain lion and the front fender, Where Abigail had dragged it off the driveway. Wailing, he went to it and sank to his knees. He sprawled over the hood and laid his head on the damaged fender. "I'm so sorry, Bets. I should of hidden the keys. Booted your tires. Something. I had know idea anyone would hurt you so, baby. I swear I'll never let anyone hurt you again. Ayyy, how could they do this to you? How? Oh the humanity!

When you fly across the country in an airplane the country seems vast; but it isn't vast. It's all connected by roads one can ride a bike down. If you watch the news and there's a tragedy at a house in Kansas, that guy's driveway connects with yours, and you'd be surprised by how few roads it takes to get there.

One thing that was really dope for me was that my dad had a '78 Corvette, '78 or '76 Corvette all my life. It always needed to be fixed up. I remember it's just been sitting in the driveway for years, and I got it fixed from top to bottom for his birthday.

Ray, people will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, we won't mind if you look around, you'll say. It's only $20 per person. They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack.