I decided I wasn't going to come down. I was going to fly. I was going to stay up in the air forever.

Friendships born on the field of athletic strife are the real gold of competition. Awards become corroded, friends gather no dust.

When I came back, after all those stories about Hitler and his snub, I came back to my native country, and I could not ride in the front of the bus. I had to go to the back door. I couldn't live where I wanted. Now what's the difference?

We used to have a lot of fun. We never had any problems. We always ate. The fact that we didn't have steak? Who had steak?

Awards become corroded, friends gather no dust.

When I passed the Chancellor he arose, waved his hand at me, and I waved back at him. I think the writers showed bad taste in criticizing the man of the hour in Germany.

To a sprinter, the hundred-yard dash is over in three seconds, not nine or ten. The first 'second' is when you come out of the blocks. The next is when you look up and take your first few strides to attain gain position. By that time the race is actually about half over. The final 'second' - the longest slice of time in the world for an athlete - is that last half of the race, when you really bear down and see what you're made of. It seems to take an eternity, yet is all over before you can think what's happening.