Yogi Berra Quotes

American baseball player, manager, and coach (1925–2015)

Lawrence Peter "Yogi" Berra (May 12, 1925 – September 22, 2015) was an American baseball player, manager and member of Major League Baseball's Hall of Fame, noted for his bad-ball hitting, his ability to perform in the clutch, and his peculiar, humorous-sounding statements reminiscent of Zen koans. Most people have heard at least some of these statements, often without knowing the source. Though very few of the quotes attributed to Berra are malapropisms, Berra's apparently unintentionally humorous statements have been mistakenly labeled as such by some writers.

From: Wikiquote (CC BY-SA 4.0)

Also Known As: Yogi

Alternative Names: Lawrence Peter "Yogi" Berra • Lawrence Peter Berra • Lorenzo Pietro Berra

From Wikidata (CC0)

If you don't know where you're going, you might not get there.

If you ask me a question I don't know, I'm not going to answer.

I really didn't say everything I said. [...] Then again, I might have said 'em, but you never know.

I looked like this when I was young, and I still do.

I knew the record would stand until it was broken.

Dickey's teaching me all of his experience.

It's unbelievable that Phil had to wait so long to get in to the Hall of Fame. Maris's home run record in 1961 has become something of a curse. He wasn't just a home run hitter, he could do everything—hit in the clutch, field, throw and run.

For a while, he was far better than the team around him, and he could give me fits.

Look, I was surprised when they offered me the job and I knew they weren't fooling, but this is not a joke. It will have to be fun for me to want to keep it, but I am not a joke.

People seem to find it hard to believe, but I'm a very serious person. It wasn't luck that I became a ballplayer. I never wanted to be anything else and I never considered anything else and I worked my tail off for it. To say that I don't have any worries or nerves is the opposite of the truth. I worry about not being able to get around on the fast ball any more, I worry about getting hurt and having to quit playing before my time. I worry about the bowling alley I own with Phil Rizzuto making money. I worry about keeping Carm happy so she won't be sorry she married me, about the kids growing up good, and about keeping out of trouble with God. I worry a lot. I'm nobody's mascot, either. Sure, I like to get along with people and I hope I've made friends, but that's different.

Sometimes I think there must be two Yogi Berras. There is the one who grew up on the Hill in St, Louis, who's been playing ball for the Yankees for fourteen years, has a beautiful wife named Carmen and three boys, Larry, Timmy, and Dale, and lives in a nice house in Montclair, N. J. That's me. Then there's the one you read about in the papers who is a kind of a comic-strip character, like Li'l Abner or Joe Palooka. [...] I don't know that Yogi at all, because he doesn't exist.

I dunno. This game is getting funnier and funnier. We do everything but punch 'em in the nose and here we are all tied up in the Series. We flatten 'em by scores of 16-3, 10-0 and 12-0 and we still need one more to win. How do you figure that? Don't write this, but even if they beat us tomorrow, we're the better club.

I gotta shake hands with himǃ That's one guy I know I'm better lookin' than.

My ambition is to hit .400 and talk 1.000.

But it don't bother me. I never yet saw anybody hit the baseball with their face. Besides, I like to get kidded; that means they like me. When they stop kidding me, I'm in trouble.