A Quote by Casey Stengel
Whenever I decided to release a guy, I always had his room searched first for a gun. You couldn't take any chances with some of them birds.
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One night a guy hit his head on a welding gun. He went to his knees. He was bleeding like a pig, blood was oozing out. So I stopped the line for a second and ran over to help him. The foreman turned the line on again, he almost stepped on the guy. That's the first thing they always do. They didn't even call an ambulance. The guy walked to the medic department -- that's about half a mile -- he had about five stitches put in his head. The foreman didn't say anything. He just turned the line on. You're nothing to any of them.
His mother called such people ignorant and superstitious, but his father only shook his head slowly and puffed his pipe and said that sometimes old stories had a grain or two of truth in them and it was best not to take chances. It was why, he said, he crossed himself whenever a black cat crossed his path.
I did not think my chances were very big when I saw some of the other men who were competing for the team. They were a good group, and I had a lot of respect for them. But I decided to give it the old school try and to take some of NASA's tests.
His face was very heavily creased, and into each crease he had tucked some worry or other, so that it wasn't really his face any longer, but more like a tree that had nests of birds in all of the branches. He had to struggle constantly to manage it and always looked worn out from the effort.
He had handed his daughter to Caroline Gill and that act had led him here, years later, to this girl in motion of her own, this girl who had decided yes, a brief moment of release in the back of a car, in the room of a silent house, this girl who had stood up later, adjusting her clothes, with now knowledge of how that moment was already shaping her life.
I did not always know I would be a writer. Until I had a room of my own, I did not write much at all - no more than any other child who read a lot of books. I began to write fiction and poetry when I first had a room that was truly my own with a door that shut and some measure, however fragile, of privacy.
Cross the wrong state border with your gun, or wake up one morning to new legislation or a new presidential executive order, and suddenly you're the bad guy, not the good guy. No wonder some gun owners seem so touchy; they feel, at some level, like criminals in waiting.
When I was 15, I decided to take up the sport seriously, so I went down to the Y.M.C.A. My first day there, this little Italian guy beat my brains out. I decided to quit. Then I realized I really wanted to be a fighter. I worked at it, went back, and that little Italian guy didn't beat me up no more.
I mean, some of the shots I take now I wouldn't have dreamed of taking when I first put on a Heat uniform. I would've been like, 'Who am I to take that shot?' Some undrafted guy who averaged nine points a game his senior year in college.
Undertaker was always a leader in the dressing room, always a man's man. No one ever doubted what he said because his word was good. He was a guy that set the dressing room standard. If you had an issue or personal problem, you could go to Undertaker and he would help you.
Guns aren't just a tool of last resort. They're awesome. That's why people stroke them. And name them, and take pictures with them. You guys aren't just firearm enthusiasts — you're ammosexuals. And before you try and deny you have some sort of unnatural romantic relationship with your gun, consider this. You're taking it out to dinner! Because it completes you. Get a room.
It's not an easy thing to captive-breed a falcon. You need to take extreme care of its diet and exercise and keep it close to its natural environment. Whenever the birds take ill, I only use Ayurveda to cure them.
I was much more afraid in Montgomery when I had a gun in my house. When I decided that I couldn’t keep a gun, I came face-to-face with the question of death and I dealt with it. From that point on, I no longer needed a gun nor have I been afraid. Had we become distracted by the question of my safety we would have lost the moral offensive and sunk to the level of our oppressors.
Wherein lies a poet's claim to originality? That he invents his incidents? No. That he was present when his episodes had their birth? No. That he was first to repeat them? No. None of these things has any value. He confers on them their only originality that has any value, and that is his way of telling them.
One of the men gave Butch a bunch of volts with a stun gun. The Rangeman didn’t move fast enough, and Butch grabbed the gun and threw it across the room. “Hunh,” Rangeman guy said. “Yeah,” I said. “Been there, done that.” “Are you sure he’s human?” “Maybe you could hook a chain to the FlexiCuffs on his ankles and drag him behind your car,” I said. “We tried that once, and Ranger didn’t like it,” the guy said. “You do something twice that Ranger doesn’t like, and you’re out of a job and damaged.
Any coach worth his salt will take a look at that and say, 'I'll take my chances with that'
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