I learned to hit with a broomstick and a ball of tape and I could always get that bat on the ball.

I never realized that batting a little ball around could cause so much commotion. I now know how (Charles) Lindbergh must have felt when he returned from St. Louis.

There is no one correct way to bat, and so of course there is no one correct stance for it.

Unless you give it all you've got, there isn't any sense in playing.

Always wanted to be a Major League player. Loved baseball. Followed it. Loved to play. Plus, I could always hit.

I consciously memorized the speed at which every pitcher in the league threw his fastball, curve, and slider; then, I'd pick up the speed of the ball in the first thirty feet of its flight and knew how it would move once it had crossed the plate.

It seemed like I always did some great hitting in Brooklyn. The field there was close to the stands. Every time I started walking to the plate, I could hear the fans say, 'Here comes that man again. Here comes that man.'