A Quote by Michael Waltrip

Nobody had ever lost 462 races and then just won. But Dale Earnhardt Sr. had told me I had the ability, and that day, I knew I would. — © Michael Waltrip
Nobody had ever lost 462 races and then just won. But Dale Earnhardt Sr. had told me I had the ability, and that day, I knew I would.
I built my team with Dale in mind. He lives with me. He's part of who I am because I just appreciated who he was and how he went about things. People worked on his cars at Dale Earnhardt Incorporated before I got there. When Dale would walk by you could just tell people were thinking, 'these are Dale Earnhardt's cars.'
I know who you are in your heart,' Andres said. 'That's all that matters.' And that was it. That was the moment. Now I knew how I would feel if I ever lost him. That was how you knew love. My mother had told me that. All you had to do was imagine your life without the other person, and if the thought alone made you shiver, then you knew.
I just don't think human beings are designed to have that big of a swing of emotions. I mean, I'm standing in Victory Lane literally seconds after Dale Earnhardt died. Dale Earnhardt was not only my car owner that day, my first victory in 463 tries, but he was my dear friend, too.
Dale Earnhardt was the best race car driver there will ever be in NASCAR. I would hope you don't expect me to replace him because nobody ever will.
I’d love to have an opportunity to tie the greats in Richard Petty and Dale Earnhardt Sr.
I was 30 years old and this girl I knew found out I had never gotten high. Nobody had ever told me about marijuana.
I'm a Christian guy. I believe that we're going to heaven, and I believe when Dale Jr. and I drove off from Turn 4 at Daytona, I think that Dale Sr. had a smile on his face.
Who would have ever thought I'd find love, contentment and joy in a prison cell, but I did. I knew that I knew that I knew that day, I'd been released, and I thought to myself, "I need to tell everyone about this" because no one had ever told me.
Nobody ever told me, 'Art is this.' This was good luck in a way because I would have had to spend half of my life forgetting everything that I had been told, which is what happens with most students in schools of fine arts.
The 24 is just legendary, it's kind of like the 3 with Dale Earnhardt Sr. where everybody knows the rainbow 24 DuPont Chevrolet. It is just a very recognizable car, driver, just a legendary team.
Coltrane had a sax, Dale Earnhardt drives a race car and everybody has their tools.
I just had - we had instances - like, for instance, when I turned 13, she threw me a bar mitzvah. But nobody came.But nobody came because nobody knew what the hell that was. I only had black friends. No one knows what the hell you're doing.
As for me: I loyally remained right where I was, remembering the very first I had ever seen the boy and then just now, the very last time-and all the times in between. The deep aching grief I knew I would feel would come soon enough, but at that moment mostly what I felt was peace, secure in the knowledge that by living my life the way I had, everything had come down to this moment. I had fulfilled my purpose.
And I felt more like me than I ever had, as if the years I'd lived so far had formed layers of skin and muscle over myself that others saw as me when the real one had been underneath all along, and I knew writing- even writing badly- had peeled away those layers, and I knew then that if I wanted to stay awake and alive, if I wanted to stay me, I would have to keep writing.
If you look at the record books, Dale Earnhardt's done everything, except win the Daytona 500. Now they can't have that riding over him. Now they're just going to say, 'Dale Earnhardt, 1998 Daytona 500 winner,' and his shoulders are going to get lighter every time.
He was about to go home, about to return to the place where he had had a family. It was in Godric’s Hollow that, but for Voldemort, he would have grown up and spent every school holiday. He could have invited friends to his house. . . . He might even have had brothers and sisters. . . . It would have been his mother who had made his seventeenth birthday cake. The life he had lost had hardly ever seemed so real to him as at this moment, when he knew he was about to see the place where it had been taken from him.
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