When Neil Armstrong first set foot on the moon, he and all the space scientists were puzzled by an unidentifiable white object. I knew immediately what it was. That was a home run ball hit off me in 1933 by Jimmie Foxx.

I'd rather not throw the ball at all.

I was never nervous when I had the ball, but when I let go I was scared to death.

I'm something like the old soak who never knew whether his wife told him to take one drink and come home at 12, or take 12 and come home at one.

I don't want to throw him nothing. Maybe he'll just get tired of waiting and leave.

You just can't imagine the kind of guy he was without seeing him play. He was a circus, a play, a movie, all rolled into one.

I never had a bad night in my life, but I've had a few bad mornings.