“(Ty) Cobb is a prick. But he sure can hit. God Almighty, that man can hit.”

A part of control is learning to correct your weaknesses.

They started something here, and the kids are keeping the ball rolling.

Gee, its lonesome in the outfield. It’s hard to keep awake with nothing to do.

What I am, what I have, what I am going to leave behind me – all this I owe to the game of baseball.

I’d play for half my salary if I could hit in this dump (Wrigley Field) all the time.

I didn’t mean to hit the umpire with the dirt, but I did mean to hit that bastard in the stands.

I learned early to drink beer, wine and whiskey. And I think I was about 5 when I first chewed tobacco.

What do I think about when I strike out? I think about hitting home runs.

Read about your case of amnesia. Must be a new brand.

Life is a game like any other; we just don’t take it as seriously.

As soon as I got out there I felt a strange relationship with the pitcher’s mound. It was as if I’d been born out there. Pitching just felt like the most natural thing in the world. Striking out batters was easy.

You just can’t beat the person who never gives up.

All ballplayers should quit when it starts to feel as if all the baselines run uphill.

I hear the cheers when they roared and the jeers when they echoed.

A man ought to get all he can earn. A man who knows he’s making money for other people ought to get some of the profit he brings in. Don’t make any difference if it’s baseball or a bank or a vaudeville show. It’s business, I tell you. There ain’t no sentiment to it. Forget that stuff.

I said I’m going to hit the next one right over the flagpole. God must have been with me.