Money is like water in a leaky bucket: no sooner there, it begins to drip.

The heart prefers to move against the grain of circumstance; perversity is the souls very life.

Why does life feel, to us as we experience it, so desperately urgent and so utterly pointless at the same time?

In no other sport must the spectator move.

That's the trouble with caring about anybody, you begin to feel overprotective. Then you begin to feel crowded.

The world keeps ending but new people too dumb to know it keep showing up as if the fun's just started.

Baseball is meant to be fun, and not all the solemn money-men in fur-collared greatcoats, not all the scruffy media cameramen and sour-faced reporters that crowd around the dugouts can quite smother the exhilarating spaciousness and grace of this impudently relaxed sport, a game of innumerable potential redemptions and curious disappointments.