Pickup Truck Quotes & Sayings

This poetry is utilitarian - heavy-duty, industrial strength poetry. It is meant to be read aloud and, even better, memorized and recited. It is best used in the natural world where there are starlit skies, the warmth of blazing fires, and sounds and sights of open expanse. This book is meant to be carried with you in the glove box of a pickup truck, the back pocket of a worn pair of pants, even a saddlebag. It is not made to take up space on a library shelf, squeezed between other unread volumes. Take it along; you never know when the opportunity will be just right. Nothing pleases more than to see copies of the book twice as thick as the original from continued page turning, with turned-down corners marking favorite poems, or the whole shape curved to match the owner's posterior. — Hal Cannon

My grandmother raised five children during the Depression by herself. At 50, she threw her sewing machine into the back of a pickup truck and drove from North Dakota to California. She was a real survivor, so that's my stock. That's how I want my kids to be too. — Michelle Pfeiffer

You're sending him to space under a tarp." "Pretty much, yeah." "Like a hastily loaded pickup truck." "Yeah. Can I go on?" "Sure, can't wait. — Andy Weir

I'm a Taurus, which sounds like the name of a pickup truck. I'd prefer to be born under the sign of the rock wallaby. If you're going to interpret your life pursuant to an utterly irrational dogma, why can't it have a cute mascot? Rock wallabies really are fabulous animals, and in any remotely just world, they would have their own star sign. — Elliot Perlman

When his writing is going well, Gordon Strangle Mars likes to wake up at 6 a.m. and go out driving. He works out new plot lines about giant spiders and keeps an eye out for abandoned couches, which he wrestles into the back of his pickup truck. Then he writes for the rest of the day. — Kelly Link

Once upon a time, the great big world outside Bridgeton had seemed like Xanadu - miles of golden road lined with smiling people, waiting to usher me through hundreds of open doors. There was nothing out there but bright light and possibilities. There were big dreams of other places, other people, even other boys.
There had even, for two hours in April, been somebody else.
He was a glimpse of the future, where I would live and breath and love far, far away from this place. A future where behind a closed door, on Saturday mornings, a boy I hadn't met yet would wrap an arm around my waist and exhale damp heat into the curve of my neck. Where we would keep our eyes closed, pull the covers closer, burrow down and deeper to escape the nine-o'clock sunshine, and the sound of heavy breath echoing along the rusted steel confines of a pickup truck would be nothing but a memory. — Kat Rosenfield

Space, let me repeat, is enormous. The average distance between stars out there is 20 million million miles. Even at speeds approaching those of light, these are fantastically challenging distances for any traveling individual. Of course, it is possible that alien beings travel billions of miles to amuse themselves by planting crop circles in Wiltshire or frightening the daylights out of some poor guy in a pickup truck on a lonely road in Arizona (they must have teenagers, after all), but it does seem unlikely. — Bill Bryson

Dominic tooled up five minutes later in a ten-year-old Nissan pickup truck that had been painted a non-standard khaki, dipped in dried mud up to the wheel arches and then randomly smacked with a sledgehammer to give it that Somali Technical look. I found myself checking to see if there was a mount for a fifty-caliber machine gun in the back. — Ben Aaronovitch

Some receivers are like sports cars: they have a lot of speed and flair. Me, I'm like an old pickup truck. I just bounce around and try to get the job done. — Steve Largent

Brake." The frontend dipped into a rut and the force tossed me close to the ceiling. "For God's sake, flip-flop, flip-flop."
The pickup cut ruts in the wet ground, spun halfway around on the grass before coming to a halt.
Somehow I'd wound up with my ass on the floorboard again and my legs on the seat. I glared at Morgan. The flush in his cheeks glowed against his pale skin.
He swallowed several times. "Well, at least it went better than last time."
"Jesus, how could that have been better? You almost killed us."
"I didn't catch the truck on fire." He fluttered his hand next to his temple. "Or drive into the pond. — Adrienne Wilder

Without ever leaving her hide-out in Milledgeville, Georgia, Flannery O'Connor knew all there was to know about the two-lane, dirt and blacktop Southern roads of the 1950s - with their junkyards and tourist courts, gravel pits and pine trees that pressed at the edges of the road. She knew the slogans of the Burma Shave signs, knew the names of barbecue joints and the chicken baskets on their menus. She also knew a backwoods American cadence and vocabulary you'd think was limited to cops, truckers, runaway teens, and patrons of the Teardrop Inn where at midnight somebody could always be counted on to go out to a pickup truck and come back with a shotgun. She was a virtuoso mimic, and she assimilated whole populations of American sounds and voices, and then offered them back to us from time to time in her small fictional detonations, one of which she named, in 1953, "A Good Man Is Hard To Find. — William Caverlee

Mr. Purty has cheered me up. The task he has chosen for himself, of wooing my mother with a bright red pickup truck, a Patsy Cline tape, and a string of malapropisms, is ample justification to me for not taking the world too seriously, its relentless heartbreak notwithstanding ... (Richard Russo, Straight Man) — Richard Russo

I never wanted anything so much, I've got to have one. I want a girl in a pickup truck. — Rick Trevino

I havent even been drinking, but, at all, but, you know, being a man, Ive got to say that weve got this guy in the White House who thinks he is a man, you know, who projects himself as a man because he has a certain masculinity, and he's a good old boy, and he used to drink, and he knows how to shoot a gun and how to drive a pickup truck, etcetera like that. Thats not the definition of a man, God Dammit! — Ed Harris

Her father dropped her off in front of the place where she was to live and left the engine running. Lila Mae removed the two suitcases from the back of the pickup truck. The suitcases were new, with a formidable casing of green plastic. Scratchproof, supposedly. Her father had only been able to afford them because they were, manufacturer's oats aside, scratched - gouged actually, as if an animal had taken them in its fangs to teach them about hubris. — Colson Whitehead

It's just paper - all I own is a pickup truck and a little Wal-Mart stock. — Sam Walton

Just because we talk slow doesn't mean we think slow, others point out. On the East Coast they seem to think there's something funny about riding around in a pickup truck. Well in the Deep South, we don't think it's all that natural to hurdle through the dark in a crowded subway. — Maryln Schwartz

Regardless of how well a woman could fight or shoot; regardless of how high the lift-kit on her pickup truck; regardless of the number of degrees she had conferred upon her; regardless of how much money she made; regardless of how messy her past was; regardless of how capable she was of taking care of herself and the world, women were gifts from God and were to be treated as such. Full stop. — Anonymous

That's where I live, a junkyard in a neighborhood of junkyards. We have three tractors from the 1940s and '50s, several old pickup trucks, and a pile of scrap metal. — Bonnie Jo Campbell

When the choice is between a demanding relationship and a vintage pickup truck, I'll choose the truck every time. — Amy Dickinson

Damn. I never should have agreed to this. What is he thinking? Here we are in a piece of crap pickup truck on our way to sit outside of a supermarket to kidnap this girl. Damn. He'd better not be falling for her. Sure she's cute, but I can't think about that. — Jenna-Lynne Duncan

When you're in a band, you spend the first four hundred thousand years of your career dragging around your own crap. Your speakers, speaker stands, mixing head, mics, pickups, power cables, mic cables, speaker cables, instruments, the everything. You forget something, you're screwed. You break something, you're screwed. You don't have a long enough extension cord? Screwed.
Once you hit it big, though
You're packing your shit into a late-model Mustang and a pickup truck and hoping you didn't forget anything. — Maggie Stiefvater

You may be a redneck if ... you have spent more on your pickup truck than on your education. — Jeff Foxworthy

Still, to me, the bottom line wasn't about the Dark Book at all. It was about uncovering the details of my sister's secret life. I didn't want the creepy thing. I just wanted to know who or what had killed Alina, and I wanted him or it dead. Then I wanted to go home to my pleasantly provincial po-dunk little town in steamy southern Georgia and forget about everything that had happened to me while I was in Dublin. The Fae didn't visit Ashford? Good. I'd marry a local boy with a jacked-up Chevy pickup truck, Toby Keith singing "Who's Your Daddy?" on the radio, and eight proud generations of honest, hardworking Ashford ancestors decorating his family tree. Short of essential shopping trips to Atlanta, I'd never leave home again. But — Karen Marie Moning

I reached a point towards the end on the old heart where I had trouble getting out of a chair. All I wanted to do was get out of bed in the morning and walk to my office and sit back down in the chair. Now I throw 50 pound bags of horse feed in the back of my pickup truck and I don't even think about it. I'm back doing those things. — Dick Cheney

There was an electric anger in his gaze, and a sort of challenge that made Simon long to hit him with something heavy. Like a pickup truck. — Cassandra Clare

I'm really annoyed by the wave of country music that's just a list of stuff. It almost sounds like L.A. people writing country music, because it's just a list of stuff: 'My pickup truck and my cowboy boots and my Levi's jeans and my girlfriend with the short shorts.' It's so boring! — Kathleen Hanna

I have a pickup truck. And I prefer to be with dogs or on my sailboat than in a car - actually, more than any other place on Earth. — Gary Paulsen

He shook-a me up, he took me by surprise. He had a pickup truck, and the devil's eyes. He stared at me and I felt a change. Time meant nothing, never would again. — Richard O'Brien

I'm not sure if all Syrena have bulletproof endurance or if Galen is particularly blessed with it. Even now, as I lock the front dead bolt while Mark holds his car door open for me, Galen is blowing up my cell. I slide into the passenger seat of the pickup truck and try to organize my face into a convincing expression of relaxed, even though my insides are twisting faster than a whirlpool.
I thought Galen had given up trying to talk to me. I mean, what else is there to say? He played me like an Xbox. A broom and dustpan couldn't clean up all the pieces of my heart he shattered. I've been so stupid. But not anymore. — Anna Banks

I looked from one to the other, and realized that Barrons and my dad were having one of those wordless conversations he and I have from time to time. Though the language was, by nature, foreign to me, I grew up in the Deep South where a man's ego is roughly the size of his pickup truck, and women get an early and interesting education in the not-so-subtle roar of testosterone. — Karen Marie Moning

The thorough bred against a clamor, or rather the Porsche vs. the pickup truck. — Larry Merchant

I think everybody should just turn off their TV machines and make up their own songs about whatever comes to mind-their couch, their friends their loaves of bread. Everybody's got their own songs. There should be so many songs out there that it all turns into one big sound and we can put the whole thing into a pickup truck and let it roll off the edge of the Grand Canyon. — Beck

Then one day Chip showed up with the back of his pickup truck just loaded with old metal letters he'd found at a flea market--big, oddly shaped letters taken from various old signs. They were mismatched and rusty and dented--and I loved them. We tacked them up on the front of the shop, spelling out the name that would come to mean so much: Magnolia. The letters were uneven and looked a little handmade and ragged, but it seemed to work. I loved this sign because Chip designed it and made it with his own two hands. It came together in such an imperfectly perfect way, and I hoped people would get it.

To this day that sign is one of my proudest accomplishments. I'm no Joanna Gaines, but I certainly see things differently and love design in my own unique way. That first sign really reflected that for me. I would glow when I would hear a customer come in the shop and say, "I saw the sign and just had to stop in. — Joanna Gaines

In 1951, a man bought a pickup truck because he needed to load things up and move them. Things like bricks and bags of feed. Somewhere along the line trendsetters and marketers got involved, and now we buy pickups
big, horse-powered, overbuilt, wide-assed, comfortable pickups
so that we may stick our key in the ignition of an icon, fire up an image, and drive off in a cloud of connotations. I have no room to talk. I long to get my International running part so I can drive down roads that no longer exist. — Michael Perry

There's an energy to these autumn nights that touches something primal inside of me. Something from long ago. From my childhood in Western Iowa. I think of high school football games and the stadium lights blazing down on the players. I smell ripening apples, and the sour reek of beer from keg parties in the cornfields. I feel the wind in my face as I ride in the bed of an old pickup truck down a country road at night, dust swirling red in the taillights and the entire span of my life yawning out ahead of me.

It's the beautiful thing about youth.

There's a weightlessness that permeates everything because no damning choices have been made, no paths committed to, and the road forking out ahead is pure, unlimited potential. — Blake Crouch

she saw all those who were in the pickup truck with her husband. Their clothes were torn. Their hands and faces were covered in blood and dust. They looked as shell-shocked as they felt. What's more, they were hungry and thirsty and exhausted and grieving their families and friends and the town they had left behind. "I heard, on the wireless," Claire said without missing a beat. "It's all anyone is talking about. Thank God you're okay. Come in. All of you, please come in. We will get you something to eat and give you a place to sleep and a hot bath. Come in; don't be shy. You're with friends here. — Joel C. Rosenberg

He can't quite picture God except as a huge ball of light with an old man's deep voice like in the pickup truck ads on TV coming out of the ball of light dictating the way everything in Eden is supposed to work. — Russell Banks

Late in the afternoon, thunder growling, that same old green pickup rolled in and he saw Jack get out of the truck, beat up Resistol tilted back. A hot jolt scalded Ennis and he was out on the landing pulling the door closed behind him. Jack took the stairs two and two. They seized each other by the shoulders, hugged mightily, squeezing the breath out of each other, saying, son of a bitch, son of a bitch, then, and easily as the right key turns the lock tumblers, their mouths came together, and hard, Jack's big teeth bringing blood, his hat falling to the floor, stubble rasping, wet saliva welling, and the door opening and Alma looking out for a few seconds at Ennis's straining shoulders and shutting the door again and still they clinched, pressing chest and groin and thigh and leg together, treading on each other's toes until they pulled apart to breathe and Ennis, not big on endearments, said what he said to his horses and his daughters, little darlin. — Annie Proulx

Outside, the guys took care of loading the groceries into the back of Shane's pickup. Emilie watched as four very attractive men stretched over the lowered tailgate to place the bags in the truck bed. A girl could get used to this. — Laura Kaye

A lot of unemployment, though. We've got two closed factories and a rotting shopping mall that went bankrupt before it ever opened. We're not far from Kentucky, which marks the unofficial border to the South, so one sees more than enough pickup trucks decorated with stickers of Confederate flags and slogans proclaiming their brand of truck is superior to all others. Lots of country music stations, lots of jokes that contain the word "nigger." A sewer system that occasionally backs up into the streets for some unknown reason. Lots and lots of stray dogs around, many with grotesque deformities. — David Wong

[American family court] is a system that is corrupt on his best day. It is like being tied to the back of a pickup truck and dragged down a gravel late at night. No one can hear your cries and complaints and it is not over until they say it's over. — Alec Baldwin

I love driving the cool cars, but there is nothing like driving a pickup truck. — Dwayne Johnson

I feel the wind in my face as I ride in the bed of an old pickup truck down a country road at night, dust swirling red in the taillights and the entire span of my life yawning out ahead of me. It's the beautiful thing about youth. There's a weightlessness that permeates everything because no damning choices have been made, no paths committed to, and the road forking out ahead is pure, unlimited potential. I — Blake Crouch

Our department takes 1,120 calls every day. Do you know how many of the calls the public expects perfection on? 1,120. Nobody calls the fire department and says, 'Send me two dumb-ass firemen in a pickup truck.' In three minutes they want five brain-surgeon decathlon champions to come and solve all their problems. — John Eversole

Wearing a $1,000 suit and driving a Ferrari may be better than riding around in a beaten-up
pickup truck, but when it's all said and done, it'll be the experiences you remember, not the stuff. — John Hawkins

Texas is just so rich with characters. Women who live alone in a little house on a thousand acres with nothing but cattle and a pickup truck. And an airplane. — Sissy Spacek

[My father ] came home from World War II and he voted for [Dwight] Eisenhower. He was pretty thoughtful about those things, but never, as I said, ever campaigned for anybody. He let me put a [Barry] Goldwater sticker on his pickup truck, but he never put a bumper sticker on his car. We never had a yard sign or anything in our yards, never contributed to anybody's campaign. — Jeff Sessions

The vamp-mobile had vanished at some point during the wee hours, replaced by a huge pickup truck I could only assume belonged to a werewolf. Or a Republican from north Louisiana - hard to tell the difference. — Cecily White

I drive a Mustang and a Chevy pickup truck. Ann drives a couple of Cadillacs, actually. And I used to have a Dodge truck. So I used to have all three covered. — Mitt Romney

A million flashes of Avery went through my mind. His mouth, his hair, his hand now in mine and then a vision of the future played out behind my eyes. Avery covered in blood, an older version of himself, splayed out on the side of the road. He was next to a red pickup truck with its driver's side smashed in. I was there too, older, screaming, holding my pregnant belly, kneeling down beside him. "Hey, are you okay?" Avery asked. I blinked hard and the vision disappeared. He was still holding my hand. How long had I spaced out for? It couldn't have been long. — Stacey Wallace Benefiel

Women are like cars: we all want a Ferrari, sometimes want a pickup truck, and end up with a station wagon. — Tim Allen

The task he has chosen for himself, of wooing my mother with a bright red pickup truck, a Patsy Cline tape, and a string of malapropisms, is ample justification to me for not taking the world too seriously, its relentless heartbreak notwithstanding. — Richard Russo

They were assembling a rocket there.

It was a big rocket.

It all more or less made sense. There was no cargo too big to be barged up the Columbia River and then trucked the last few miles to Moses Lake. There was no airplane that couldn't be accommodated by that runway. There was no object that the aerospace machine shops of the Seattle area couldn't build. And from this latitude, the same as Baikonur, a well-worn and understood flight plan could take payloads to Izzy.

A mere four days later, Doob stood in the bed of a rusty pickup truck with a random assortment of space rednecks, hoisting a longnecked beer bottle into the sky in emulation of the rocket lifting off from the pad. They all hooted and screamed as they watched it arc gracefully downrange and take off in the general direction of Boise. And the next morning, when they had all sobered up, they got busy building another rocket. — Neal Stephenson

Because everyone is still treating me with kid gloves, Pigpen's driving me in his pickup truck, blasting music that's more screaming than music. I prefer electric guitar over voices, but it's not my fucking truck. — Katie McGarry

Even as a guy with pickup truck sensibilities, I have always gone a little in the liver for patchouli. — Michael Perry

...there should be a few places where prairie dogs can just be prairie dogs, where they can kick back and fulfill their niches in the grand scheme of the shortgrass prairie, work on their whistles, try to dig to China or least to Amarillo. Sooner or later a hungry mother kit fox will strike blood, but until then there should be a few places where prairie dogs don't have to worry about two guys bumping chests behind a pickup truck after a single exploding bullet launches them heavenward for an extra eleven points. "Montana Mist!" If not on public lands like the Cimarron National Grassland, then where? — George Frazier