That's the difference between a champ and a knife thrower. The champ may have lost his stuff temporarily or permanently, he can't be sure. But when he can no longer throw the high hard one, he throws his heart instead. He throws something. He doesn't just walk off the mound and weep.

Why did I think that this improvisation could never end? If I had seen that it could, what would I have done differently? What would he?

You tell everyone you created me, molded me into the women I am today. I will turn into everything you hate.

Aki már meghalt, annak édes mindegy, hogy ki nyeri meg a háborút.

Written By Joseph Heller

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