It is a truth universally acknowledged that a gearhead in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a whip.

The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in 3,362 pounds of pure American muscle, must be intolerably stupid.

I declare after all there is no enjoyment like burning rubber on the quarter mile! How much sooner one tires of any thing than of a custom tuner with a lowered chassis and four-core intercooler!

Give a girl a nitrous fuel injection and introduce her properly onto the track, and ten to one she has the means of settling well, without further expense to anybody.

I hate to hear you talk about all women as if they were fine hoes instead of rational creatures. None of us want to be in the passenger seat all our lives.

A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from the turn to the drift, from the drift to her NOS canister in a moment.

I watch the first film as a duty, but it tells me nothing that does not either vex or weary me. The quarrels of bangers and busters, with race wars or barbeques, in every scene; the men all so good for nothing, and hardly any women at all—it is very tiresome: and yet I often think it odd that it should be so dull, for a great deal of it must be invention.

Family and friends are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be a friend without being family. Friendship relates more to our opinion of ourselves, family to what we would have our crew think of us.

Ah! There is nothing like granny shifting for real comfort. Though nobody can be more devoted to the double-clutch than I am.

You pierce my tyres. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that it won’t buff right out, that my 10-second car is gone for ever. I offer my ride to you again with a twin-turbo V8 even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight miles and a half ago.

Automatic transmissions are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable.

It is only a film series… or, in short, only some work in which the phattest powers of the engine are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of the automobile, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of muscle and tuner, are conveyed to the world on the best-chosen roads.

To sit in a sick ride on a fine day, and look upon asphalt, is the most perfect refreshment.