To A Sprinter, The Hundred-yard

"she (minnie Ruth Solomon) Was Unusual Because Even Though I Knew Her Family Was As Poor As Ours, Nothing She Said Or Did Seemed Touched By That. Or By Prejudice. Or By Anything The World Said Or Did. It Was As If She Had Something Inside Her That Somehow Made All That Not Count. I Fell In Love With Her Some The First Time We Ever Talked, And A Little Bit More Every Time After That Until I Thought I Couldn't Love Her More Than I Did. And When I Felt That Way, I Asked Her To Marry Me . . . And She Said She Would."

People Come Out To See You Perform And You've Got To Give Them The Best You Have Within You.

The Black Fist Is A Meaningless Symbol. When You Open It, You Have Nothing But Fingers - Weak, Empty Fingers. The Only Time The Black Fist Has Significance Is When There's Money Inside. There's Where The Power Lies.

One Chance Is All You Need.

To A Sprinter, The Hundred-yard Dash Is Over In Three Seconds, Not Nine Or Ten. The First 'second' Is When You Come Out Of The Blocks. The Next Is When You Look Up And Take Your First Few Strides To Attain Gain Position. By That Time The Race Is Actually About Half Over. The Final 'second' - The Longest Slice Of Time In The World For An Athlete - Is That Last Half Of The Race, When You Really Bear Down And See What You're Made Of. It Seems To Take An Eternity, Yet Is All Over Before You Can Think What's Happening.