Baseball is a dull game only for those with dull minds.

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.

Dying is no big deal. Living is the trick.

Writing is easy. Just sit in front of a typewriter, open up a vein and bleed it out drop by drop.

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

The natural habitat of the tongue is the left cheek.

It is well known that the older a man grows, the faster he could run as a boy.