Dr. Claire Lewicki: Tell me what you love so much about racing.
Cole Trickle: Speed. To be able to control it. To know that I can control something that's out of control.

Harry Hogge: All right. While we're still under a caution, I want you to go back out on that track and hit the pace car.
Cole Trickle: Hit the pace car?
Harry Hogge: Hit the pace car.
Cole Trickle: What for?
Harry Hogge: Because you've hit every other goddamned thing out there, I want you to be perfect.

Harry Hogge: What do you know about stock car racing?
Cole Trickle: Well... watched it on television, of course.
Harry Hogge: You've seen it on television?
Cole Trickle: ESPN. The coverage is excellent, you'd be surprised at how much you can pick up.
Harry Hogge: I'm sure I would.

[calmly] We messed up big time on Sunday. I had sponsors in thew stands and I'm huggin' and holdin' hands and kissin'em in the ears and prayin' for a good showin'. And what do we do? [shouting] We end up lookin' like a monkey fuckin' a football out there!

[talking to "his" race-car] I'm settin' you up for cool weather... but if that sun breaks, after you're out on the track, you're liable to get real loose real quick. Now I don't wanna worry you or nothin, but, Cole's not ready for that... he's changed, see, he's changed. You cannot get out of control and expect him to bring you right back. He's liable to hurt you, you're liable to hurt him, and... I couldn't handle that, so, ah, you've gotta take care of him... see... you gotta take care of him.

[talking to a race-car chassis] I'm gonna give you an engine low to the ground... extra thick oil pan to cut the wind from underneath you. It'll give you thirty or forty more horsepower. I'm gonna give you a fuel line that'll hold an extra gallon of gas. I'm gonna shave half an inch off you and shape you like a bullet. I'll get you primed, painted and weighed, and you'll be ready to go out on that racetrack. Hear me? You're gonna be perfect.

And Harry, I know you're great, you know you're great, but if the guy in the car doesn't trust you, we're never gonna win a damn race.

Claire, I'm more afraid of bein' nothing than I am of being hurt.

Control is an illusion, you infantile egomaniac. Nobody knows what's gonna happen next: not on a freeway, not in an airplane, not inside our own bodies and certainly not on a racetrack with 40 other infantile egomaniacs.

Drivers can't stand to be reminded of what can happen to 'em in a racecar. They, they don't go to hospitals, they don't go to funerals. You get a driver to a funeral before he's actually dead, you've made history, darlin'.

His way... [slaps a ruined tire] my way... '[slaps a lightly worn tire] I was 6 seconds faster.

I'm droppin in the hammer.

If you're from California, you're not a Yankee. You're not really anything.

Let me drive I won't make a fool out of you.

No, no, he didn't slam you, he didn't bump you, he didn't nudge you... he rubbed you. And rubbin, son, is racin'.