“YOU CAN ONLY DO ONE THING AT A TIME SO CONCENTRATE ON IT.”

I was called Rembrandt Hope in my boxing days, because I spent so much time on the canvas.

The help (in Japan) is very polite. They bow so much, you don’t know which end to talk to.

Out here in the Pacific, they have typhoons and hurricanes that blow over 200 miles an hour. We have tornadoes and hurricanes back home, but I don’t worry about them. The mortgage on my house is so heavy that nothing could budge it.

She got to enjoy the personal side of the players. They were her kids. The Braves were her family.

Free speech isn’t dead in Germany and Italy, merely the speakers.

I don’t do a lot of political jokes. Too many are getting elected.

My next door neighbor just had a pacemaker installed. They’re still working the bugs out, though. Every time he makes love, my garage door opens.

I do benefits for all religions – I’d hate to blow the hereafter on a technicality.

The good news is that Jesus is coming back. The bad news is that he’s really pissed off.

Bing Crosby and I weren’t the types to go around kissing each other. We always had a light jab for each other.

Pebble Beach is Alcatraz with grass.

I’ve been playing the game so long that my handicap is in Roman numerals.

Whenever I play with him , I usually try to make it a foursome – the President, myself, a paramedic and a faith healer.

I asked the colonel what type of aircraft it was, and he said, “Don’t worry about it, Bob. . . if you can see it, it’s obsolete.”

I don’t know if the presidential candidates are running for the White House or Animal House.

I get upset over a bad shot just like anyone else. But it’s silly to let the game get to you.

I love music of all kinds, but there’s no greater music than the sound of my grandchildren laughing; my kids, too.

Grandchildren now don’t write a thank you for the Christmas presents.

To be frivolous time-wasters, delighted in putting her favorite volumes into her grandchildren’s hands.

My life contains so many other things; I have my children, my grandchildren, my two dogs and a big place in the country. I have my own life.

The danger lies in forgetting what we had. The flow between generations becomes a trickle, grandchildren tape-recording grandparents’ memories on special occasions perhaps-no casual storytelling jogged by daily life.

Our faces will become works of art that our grandchildren will treasure.

By bringing current events into the classroom, everyday discussion, and social media.

Maybe we don’t need to wait for our grandchildren’s questions to remind us we should have paid more attention to current events.