A Quote by Mario Andretti

If you don't come walking back to the pits every once in a while holding a steering wheel in your hands, you're not trying hard enough — © Mario Andretti
If you don't come walking back to the pits every once in a while holding a steering wheel in your hands, you're not trying hard enough
Mallory dropped her head to the steering wheel. "Look, I'm mad at you, okay? This isn't about me. I know my painful memories are relative. My life is good. I'm lucky. This isn't about how poor little Mallory has had it so hard. I'm not falling apart or anything." He stroked a hand down her back. "Of course you're not. You're just holding the steering wheel up with your head for a minute, that's all.
Son, you've got a good engine, but your hands aren't on the steering wheel.
When he was young, I told Dale Jr. that hunting and racing are a lot alike. Holding that steering wheel and holding that rifle both mean you better be responsible.
The future of my government is not in the hands of the opposition. The steering wheel is in my hands.
So your job as a director is to constantly try to stay at the steering wheel and pull it hard left or hard right. To try to give it a voice.
Imagine the peace symbol. The peace symbol has three pieces in it. One piece is emotion, that's your body. Another piece has spirit in it, that's your fuel. Another piece has intellect in it and that's your steering wheel. You can never overdo the fuel that goes into the body, which is the emotions and the steering wheel to drive it.
You know, I got kids. I got sons, and I try to tell them, 'Look, man, when you in the car and you get pulled over, hands on the steering wheel. 'Yes, sir. No sir.' Your job is to either wind up in jail, so I can come get you, or be able to pull off. That's your job.'
There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you.
When I started driving our old four-door green DeSoto, I always took Skip on my trips around town. I would get Skip to prop himself against the steering wheel, his black head peering out of the windshield, while I crouched out of sight under the dashboard. Slowing the car to ten or fifteen, I would guide the steering wheel with my right hand while Skip, with his paws, kept it steady. As we drove by the Blue Front Café, I could hear one of the men shout: "Look at that ol' dog drivin' a car!"
Every once in a while, you live long enough to get the respect that people didn't want to give while you were trying to become a senior citizen.
How far we all come. How far we all come away from ourselves. So far, so much between, you can never go home again. You can go home, it's good to go home, but you never really get all the way home again in your life. ... whatever it was and however good it was, it wasn't what you once had been, and had lost, and could never have again, and once in a while, once in a long time, you remembered, and knew how far you were away, and it hit you hard enough, that little while it lasted, to break your heart.
Sometimes you have to bring back only the steering wheel so the car owner will know that you're giving it all you have.
Once you've made your first feature, you know what you can do wrong and how hard it is to shoot a feature. Before you do it, you just don't know how hard it is. Once you've done it, when you're writing a second one, it's almost like you're preparing, and it's almost holding you back.
The memories are vague of the accident. I remember coming out of the pitlane with cruise control, letting it go and then losing control of the car. I remember my hands frantically operating the steering wheel trying to recover control of the car, then this big, big noise and nothing more.
I hate waking up every morning to my alarm. I always bang my head on the steering wheel.
Is prayer your steering wheel or your spare tire?
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