The glories of our blood and state, Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate, Death lays his icy hand on kings. Scepter and crown must tumble down, And, in the dust, be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. ↗
I assure you that the training that you get in a midget, in a sprint car and perhaps in a Silver Crown car is really the kind of experience that makes you into a damn good race driver. ↗
