You're trying your damndest, you strike out and they boo you. I act like it doesn't bother me, like I don't hear anything the fans say, but the truth is I hear every word of it and it kills me.

If you could equate the amount of time and effort put in mentally and physically into succeeding on the baseball field and measured it by the dirt on your uniform, mine would have been black.

Any time you think you have the game conquered, the game will turn around and punch you right in the nose.

I can't stand satisfaction. To me, greatness comes from that quest for perfection.

I'm 61 now, and I'm comfortable in my lifestyle... I don't yearn for the limelight on a regular basis. I get a kick out of it every so often. I go to Philly and go to a game, and they make a big deal about me. That's fun for a couple of days, and I can go back to my own private life.

Philadelphia is the only city, where you can experience the thrill of victory and the agony of reading about it the next day.

I don't think I can get into my deep inner thoughts about hitting. It's like talking about religion.