Niki Lauda

A wise man can learn more from his enemies than a fool from his friends.

Of course he didn't listen to me. For James, one world title was enough. He had proved what he needed to prove. To himself and anyone who doubted him. And two years later, he retired. When I saw him next in London, seven years later, me as a champion again, him as broadcaster, he was barefoot on a bicycle with a flat tire, still living each day like his last. When I heard he died age 45 of a heart attack, I wasn't surprised. I was just sad. People always think of us as rivals but he was among the very few I liked and even fewer that I respected. He remains the only person I envied.

Happiness is your biggest enemy. It weakens you. Puts doubts in your mind. Suddenly you have something to lose.

You know, in hospital, the toughest part of my treatment was the vacuum. Pumping the shit out of my lungs. It was hell. And while doing it, I was watching television. You winning all my points.

'That bastard Hunt,' I would say. 'I hate that guy.' And then one day, the doctor came and said, 'Mr. Lauda, may I offer a piece of advice? Stop thinking of it as a curse to have been given an enemy in life. It can be a blessing, too. A wise man gets more from his enemies than a fool from his friends.' And you know what? He was right. Look at us. We were both a pair of kids when we met. Hot-headed jerks in Formula 3. Disowned by our families. Headed nowhere. And now, we're both champions of the world. It was not bad, huh?

So don't let me down now. I need you busting my balls. Get back to work.

Happiness is the enemy.

I accept every time I get in my car there is a 20% chance I could die, and I can live with it, but not 1% more.

Twenty five drivers start every season in Formula One, and each year two of us die. What kind of person does a job like this? Not normal men, for sure. Rebels, lunatics, dreamers. People who are that desperate to make a mark, and are prepared to die trying. My name is Niki Lauda, and racing people know me for two things. The first is my rivalry with him.

I don't know why it became such a big thing. We were just drivers busting each other's balls. To me this is perfectly normal, but other people saw in differently. That whatever it was between us went deeper. The other thing I'm remembered for is what happened on 1st August 1976, when I was chasing him like an asshole…

Sure. I had a skin graft operation, where they put half my right thigh in my face. Now it doesn't look too good, but one unexpected advantage is it's impossible to perspire through a skin graft, so sweat will never run into my eyes again, which is good for a driver.

Yes, of course. I have the better car. And possibly I'm the better driver. But he's a clever guy, and he's used his time well while I was lying half-dead in hospital… to win some points.

She said, 'Sweetie, you don't need a face to drive. You just need a right foot.'

There's no need to drive fast, it just increases the percentage of risk. We're not in a hurry, I'm not being paid. Right now, with zero incentive or reward, why would I drive fast?

You should try. It's good for discipline. You have to stay within the rules, stick with regulations, suppress the ego. It helps with the racing.

I should warn you, I'm not going to be any good at this. "Bringing flowers" and "holding hands". I'll probably forget your birthday. But if I'm going to do this with anyone, it might as well be you.