A song of hate is a song of Hell; Some there be who sing it well. Let them sing it loud and long, We lift our hearts in a loftier song: We life our hearts to Heaven above, Singing the glory of her we love, England.

Bind her, grind her, burn her with fire, Cast her ashes into the sea,-- She shall escape, she shall aspire, She shall arise to make men free; She shall arise in a sacred scorn, Lighting the lives that are yet unborn, Spirit supernal, splendor eternal, England!

People who care nothing for their country's stories and songs,' he said, 'are like people without a past- without a memory- they are half people

I'm a finesse pitcher without the finesse.

I was a professional baseball player from the time I was drafted out of high school in 1981 until the time I retired in 2003.

I love being out there on the mound with the ball in my hand. I can control the game. I'm out there. No clock - nothing happens until I throw that thing. Nothing happens. I love that feeling.