“I want a house with a garage, so someone from the government won’t try to park a tank in my living room.”

“Growing up, my bedroom was like a garage, only much smaller and with more lawnmowers in it (we had to store them there because the garage was crowded with the 14-person dining room table—despite there being only four of us in the house). I’m just thankful my parents didn’t park their cars in the living room.”

“My car rides smooth like I’m driving a cloud. If I park it at your house, I may get rainwater on your living room carpet.”

“Fine. Let Ranger get someone else. Trust me, you don't want to be out looking for a parking place on Sloane in the middle of the night.""I won't have to look for a parking place. Tank's picking me up.""Your working with a guy name Tank?""He's big.""Jesus", Morelli said. "I had to fall in love with a woman who works with a guy named Tank.""You love me?""Of course I love you. I just don't want to marry you.”

“What I really want is to sit next to someone on an L.L. bean blanket on the beach in the fall and drink coffee from the same mug. I don't want some rusty '73 Ford Pinto with a factory-defective gas tank that causes it to explode when its rear-ended in the parking lot of the supermarket. So why do I keep looking for Pintos?”

“My hands fell asleep, so I washed them with hot coffee. Then I had donuts for breakfast, by way of spinning circles in my car and burning rubber in the parking garage of my office building.”