The car is absolutely gorgeous. I can look at a car like that and see and admire the incredible amount of work that went into it.
...but...
I've never been what people would consider a collector of cars. I've had some beautiful cars. I've purchased them from people who lovingly restored them, covered them, and put them in their garages. These cars rarely had more than a few hundred miles on them since their restorations, and the closest they ever got to being dirty was banished easily with a California Car Duster.
...And once I bought 'em, I took those cars out and drove the schtuffing out of them. Every day, rain or shine. To the store. To the theater. To pick up The Boy up after school. My Mustang Fastback (a beautiful car!) saw 70,000 miles in one year. Bug hits, road grime, and everything else inbetween touched the body of that car.
So my criteria for a car are a bit different than it is for a collector or a restorer: If I can't get in it and drive it, then it has ceased being a car and is completely useless. It doesn't matter how meticulous or painstaking the restoration is. In the end the measure of whether a car is a car (any car!) is whether you can jump in (or wriggle in, in the case of the GT40) turn the key, and take it out on the road or the track. As much of a piece of history as it may be, if you can't drive it it's a doorstop.
Statues are made of stone. Cars - real cars - are, were, and will always be made of one substance: emotion.
Your pal,
Meat.