When I came over here (the National League), I always heard it was a stronger league, with amphetamines all over the clubhouse, but all I found was Michelob Dry.

Someone told me just recently that poets are eulogists. It's their job, to eulogize. I didn't know that, but it makes sense. Because in almost every poem of mine there is a loss.

It (his contract) has options through the year 2020 or until the last Rocky movie is made.

I became a better pitcher when I found a delivery in my flaw.

Coming into a game in the eighth or ninth inning is like parachuting behind enemy lines. And sometimes the chute doesn't open. You have to live with that. It's an occupational hazard.

Strikes (1981) are real life. It took up seven weeks of real time. That's a fifth of a pregnancy.

I have seen the future and it's like the present, only longer.