Matt

“I fingered the winterkilled grass, looping it round the tip of my finger like hair, ruffling its tips with my palms. Another year has twined away, unrolled and dropped across nowhere like a flung banner painted in gibberish. "The last act is bloody, however brave be all the rest of the play; at the end they throw a little earth upon your head, and it's all over forever.”
― Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

“Informed of his death, Ritter recalled something Meyers had told him at their first meeting seven years earlier. "I am like an old hemlock," he said. "My head is still high but the winds of close to a hundred winters have whistled through my branches, and I have been witness to many wondrous and many tragic things. My eyes perceive the present, but my roots are imbedded [sic] deeply in the grandeur of the past.”
― Maury Klein, Stealing Games: How John McGraw Transformed Baseball with the 1911 New York Giants

“At this, Calvin kissed my son on the nose, his lips pressed to the sheet.”
― Craig Davidson, The Saturday Night Ghost Club

“The game he loved, that America loved, had passed him by, left him enamored more of its past than of its present or future. It had grown younger as he grew older.”
― Maury Klein, Stealing Games: How John McGraw Transformed Baseball with the 1911 New York Giants