It is decidedly not true that 'nice guys finish last'.

In the olden days, the umpire didn't have to take any courses in mind reading. The pitcher told you he was going to throw at you.

Baseball is like church. Many attend few understand.

I never questioned the integrity of an umpire. Their eyesight, yes.

To some it's a six-pack, to me it's a "support group". Salvation in a can!

Buy a steak for a player on another club after the game, but don't even speak to him on the field. Get out there and beat them to death.

Win any way as long as you can get away with it. Nice guys finish last.

Give me some scratching, diving, hungry ballplayers who come to kill you.

I believe in rules. Sure I do. If there weren't any rules, how could you break them?

I never did say that you can't be a nice guy and win. I said that if I was playing third base and my mother rounded third with the winning run, I'd trip her up.

You don't save a pitcher for tomorrow. Tomorrow it may rain.

Either I've always spoken to her from the heart in times like this, or I never have and I don't know what it means.

My final thought, before falling into the golden haze of time travel, was that these adventures on medieval Óshéanús had been the greatest days of any of my lives, past or future.

I've learned that life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it gets to the end, the faster it goes.

That little burning bush that is the signature of the blog - it echoes Elizabeth Barrett Browning's words.

Dear God, I do not ask for health or wealth. People ask you so often that you can't have any left. Give me, God, what else you have. Give me what no-one else asks for. Amen.

And though I suffer for you, yet it eases my heart to suffer for you.

Oh dear, life is pretty tough sometimes, isn't it?

So many of our lessons are learned, it would seem, too late to use on Earth.

If you're not falling, you're not training hard enough.

I can’t make the Bible come alive for anyone. The Bible is already alive. It makes me come alive.