A Quote by Vin Scully

Andre Dawson has a bruised knee and is listed as day-to-day. Aren't we all? — © Vin Scully
Andre Dawson has a bruised knee and is listed as day-to-day. Aren't we all?
Andre Dawson has a bruised knee and is listed as day-to-day. Aren't we all?
I used to love Andre The Giant. I could sit around all day and listen to Andre stories. He was such a wonderful, unique guy who everyone loved being around. The thing about Andre, he just had this magical mystique about him.
No player in baseball history worked harder, suffered more, or did it better than Andre Dawson. He's the best I've ever seen.
One of my earliest memories was watching Ken Patera and Big John Studd cut Andre The Giant's hair. That was the first thing that had a serious effect on me emotionally. I was just moping around the house all day. I couldn't believe they did this to Andre The Giant.
Every single day since Day 1, to Day 2, to Day 3, to Day 4, to Day 5, to Day 6, to Day 7 to Day 8, whatever day it is now, I've gotten better.
No player in baseball history worked harder, suffered more, or did it better than Andre Dawson. Hes the best Ive ever seen.
I liked working in advertising, but don't believe my taste in art, such as it is, was entirely formed by TV commercials. And I don't feel especially conflicted enjoying a Mantegna one day, a Carl Andre the next day and a brash student work the next.
I go home at the end of the day and I rarely talk about what I did that day. So my wife's experience is just like that of anybody else whose husband goes away to a blue collar job and comes home bruised and dirty and often proud of the work that they're doing.
Matt looked up kids from his high school class. Only three were listed as dead, but a bunch were listed as missing/presumed dead. As a test, he looked us up, but none of our names were on any of the lists. And that's how we know we're alive this Memorial Day.
When I tagged with Andre, and I loved tagging with Andre, but Andre started having some physical issues, so I did all the bouncing around in the ring, and I did it joyfully.
They are not brave, the days when we are twenty-one. They are full of little cowardices, little fears without foundation, and one is so easily bruised, so swiftly wounded, one falls to the first barbed word. To-day, wrapped in the complacent armour of approaching middle age, the infinitesimal pricks of day by day brush one but lightly and are soon forgotten, but then—how a careless word would linger, becoming a fiery stigma, and how a look, a glance over a shoulder, branded themselves as things eternal.
Eva. Every day I've climbed up the belfry chanting a lucky chant at one syllable per beat, "To-day-to-day-let-her-be-here-to-day-to-day.
I remember being a kid and saying, 'One day, I'm going to have a ranch. One day, one day, one day.' And now, I'm fighting in the UFC. I'm here making the money, and that one day is here. I can finally go get those things that I want.
I wake up each night eight times a night or so because of my knee or my back or my elbow or my shoulder. If I wake up one day and am not crippled-feeling then I'm shocked like, wow, it's going to be a good day.
And I learned what is obvious to a child. That life is simply a collection of little lives, each lived one day at a time. That each day should be spent finding beauty in flowers and poetry and talking to animals. That a day spent with dreaming and sunsets and refreshing breezes cannot be bettered. But most of all, I learned that life is about sitting on benches next to ancient creeks with my hand on her knee and sometimes, on good days, for falling in love.
I wanted to be kicked and hit and bruised up and beaten. It became something that was an absolutely necessary part of every day for me.
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