In baseball, when you get into the batter's box, that's it. It's just you. It's one man against the world. All that matters in that moment is your individual achievement and your individual skill. There is literally nothing that anyone else on your team can do for you. Hell, they're all sitting on the bench, waiting to see what happens, just like the fans in the crowd! It's just you and your bat. And the ball.

Unreal. I'm feeling nostalgic for something that happened less than twenty-four hours ago. This has got to be a record.

And what? Accidentally cuts off three fingers postmortem? 'Oops, oh, no, my girlfriend just died! Clumsy me, in trying to perform CPR, I chopped off some fingers! Guess I'll just take them with me.... Oh, darn, where did that middle finger go?

Homecoming's stupid." And it is. Buch of kids looking for excuses to grope eachother all night.

Look, my dad has a saying - we'll burn that bridge when get to it. OK? You get it? Worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.

I just have an allergic reaction to lung cancer. Gives me tumors.

Yes, pain meant life. But the symmetric property did not apply; Life did not mean pain.