I like to get where the cabbage is cooking and catch the scents.

Ninety feet between the bases is the nearest thing to perfection that man has yet achieved.

I have known writers who paid no damned attention whatever to the rules of grammar and rhetoric and somehow made the language behave for them.

Now it is done. Now the story ends. And there is no way to tell it. The art of fiction is dead. Reality has strangled invention.

The Russians have a weapon that can wipe out two hundred eighty thousand Americans. That puts them exactly ten years behind Howard Cosell.

Today's game is always different from yesterday's game.

I like to get where the cabbage is cooking and catch the scents.