There are only two seasons – winter and Baseball.
Baseball is almost the only orderly thing in a very unorderly world. If you get three strikes, even the best lawyer in the world can’t get you off.
The most beautiful thing in the world is a ballpark filled with people.
I try not to break the rules, but merely to test their elasticity.
How can you be a sage if you’re pretty? You can’t get your wizard papers without wrinkles.
I have discovered in 20 years of moving around a ballpark, that the knowledge of the game is usually in inverse proportion to the price of the seats.
I don’t mind the high price of stardom. I just don’t like the high price of mediocrity.
It never ceases to amaze me how many of baseball’s wounds are self-inflicted.
The true harbinger of spring is not crocuses or swallows returning to Capistrano, but the sound of the bat on the ball.
I don’t want the natural athlete – I want a guy who’ll go after the hard ones.
This is a game to be savored, not gulped. There’s time to discuss everything between pitches or between innings.
I do not think that winning is the most important thing. I think winning is the only thing.
Look, we play the Star Spangled Banner before every game. You want us to pay income taxes, too?
Next to the confrontation between two highly honed batteries of lawyers, jungle warfare is a stately minuet.
If there is any justice in this world, to be a White Sox fan frees a man from any other form of penance.
Baseball is the only thing beside the paper clip that hasn’t changed.
Every baseball crowd, like every theatre audience, has its own distinctive attitude and atmosphere.