Babe Ruth Quotes

You should always go to other people funerals, or they wont go to yours.

That kid sure can bust 'em.

I suppose that American League pitchers have been feeding me soft ones for 21 years. I know how they all feel, and I don't blame 'em. They'd rather strike out the Babe than anyone else. For I've been a little lucky in the home run racket. They've walked me more than 2000 times and I've never squawked. You see, I used to be a pitcher myself. Those 2000 walks and those 700 or so home runs saved my legs. Anyhow, I've had pretty good legs. They talk about Ty Cobb's legs. He had about the best pair I ever knew of in baseball. But Ty was carrying 180 pounds for 24 years, and I've had to carry from 230 to 250 pounds. I've had to carry 50 to 70 pounds more than Cobb ever had to carry. I never talked to a horse, but I'd like to ask Equipoise or Twenty Grand or Cavalcade or some of the others just how much difference 50 or 70 pounds would make in a race. And I'm not supposed to be a horse or a tank.

Baseball was, is and always will be to me the best game in the world.

Heroes get remembered, but legends never die.

Pitchers—real pitchers— know that their job isn't so much to keep opposing batsmen from hitting as it is to make them hit it at someone. The trouble with most kid pitchers is that they forget there are eight other men on the team to help them. They just blunder ahead, putting everything they have on every pitch and trying to carry the weight of the whole game on their shoulders. The result is that they tire out and go bad along in the middle of the game, and then the wise old heads have to hurry out and rescue them. I've seen a lot of young fellows come up, and they all had the same trouble. Take Lefty Grove over at Philadelphia, for instance. There isn't a pitcher in the league who has more speed or stuff than Lefty. He can do things with a baseball that make you dizzy. But when he first came into the league he seemed to think that he had to strike out every batter as he came up. The result was he'd go along great for five or six innings, and them blow. And he's just now learning to conserve his strength. In other words, he's learning that a little exercise of the noodle will save a lot of wear and tear on his arm.

I was a bad kid. I say this without pride but with a feeling that it is better to say it. I live with one great hope: to help kids who now stand where I stood as a boy. If what I have to say here helps even one of them avoid some of my own mistakes, or take heart from such triumphs as I have had, this book will serve its purpose.

"Don't worry about my weight. Fifteen pounds more and I'll be grand. I never felt better in my life. I'm going to lead the league in batting again and maybe I'll make a new home run record.

It's hard to beat a person who never gives up.

I'm out there on my own this season as a ball player. Right now, I don't think the fans care anything about me being a vice-president of the club or what I would do as a manager. That's all out this season. It's the old Babe on the old job—a ball player. It has been the only job I ever knew. It was the only job that put me where I happen to be right now. I'd rather make good as a ball player this season than anything I ever did. I'm not kidding myself. I'm not going to be any Tris Speaker in that outfield. The old dogs are going to do a lot of barking. But they've barked before. And you know—a barking dog seldom bites.

I'd play for half my salary if I could hit in this dump all the time.

I'm glad you finally signed up, Hank. A man's got to keep playing, if he's fit. Keep looking out for yourself. Keep your wind. That's everything. You'll like the National League, Hank. Especially the ballparks. I got a bum break when I went over there, but that was just accidental. You'll be okay. They'll curve-ball you a lot, and you'll find they think a one-run lead is something nice to sit back and rest on. But otherwise it's the same baseball we played. Don't give up until every base is uphill. I played just a little too long. About a week or so. I should have quit that day in Pittsburgh—I was with the Braves, you know—when I got three home runs and was gypped out of a fourth one by one of the Waners. That should have been curtains. But I had promised old man Fuchs that I'd hang around for his Memorial Day crowd. Too bad.

Yesterday's home runs don't win today's games

The only real game — I think — in the world is baseball.

If it wasn't for baseball, I'd be in either the penitentiary or the cemetery. I have the same violent temper my father and older brother had. Both died of injuries from street fights in Baltimore, fights begun by flare-ups of their tempers.