Love Is Like Falconry," He

She Was A Natural Blonde, With Delicate Hands And Feet, And In Her Youthful Photographs One Saw A Girl With Mocking Eyes And A Tragic Smile, The Course Of Whose Life Would Conspire In Time To Transpose That Pair Of Adjectives.

Novelist Time Is Reptile Time; Novelists Tend To Be Ruminant And Brooding, Nursers Of Ancient Grievances, Second-guessers, Tuesday Afternoon Quarterbacks, Retrospectators, Endlessly, Like Slumping Hitters, Studying The Film Of Their Old Whiffs.

The First And Last Duty Of The Lover Of The Game Of Baseball," Peavine's Book Began, "whether In The Stands Or On The Field, Is The Same As That Of The Lover Of Life Itself: To Pay Attention To It. When It Comes To The Position Of Catcher, As All But Fools And Shortstops Will Freely Acknowledge, This Solemn Requirement Is Doubled.

He Was A Fugitive, Lurking Soul, James Leer. He Didn't Belong Anywhere, But Things Went Much Better For Him In Places Where Nobody Belonged.

Do What You Gotta Do And Stay Fly