Cubs Best Quotes

It is only natural, of course, that each man should think his own opinions best: the crow loves his fledgling, and the ape his cub.

Ah, but I’m not a gentleman,” said the Marquis. “I have it on the best of authority that I am only a nobleman.” “Good gracious, Vidal, who in the world dared to say such a thing?” cried his cousin, instantly diverted. “Mary,” replied his lordship, pouring himself out a glass of wine.

That's right," said Simon. "Just remember, when your mother's gnawing my ankle like a furious mama bear separated from her cub, I did it for you.

Oh, is that right? You know, a lioness will protect her cub by baring her teeth, by roaring, using her claws to defend her cub if she feels she has to - this mother, has other means. You are standing in the way of my daughter's best interests. If you try to pick our peach from our family tree, you will be picking a fight. Do you understand me?

Force, in overabundance, is the enemy of artistry.

IN the morning we went up to the village and bought a wire rat-trap and fetched it down, and unstopped the best rat-hole, and in about an hour we had fifteen of the bulliest kind of ones; and then we took it and put it in a safe place under Aunt Sally's bed. But while we was gone for spiders little Thomas Franklin Benjamin Jefferson Elexander Phelps found it there, and opened the door of it to see if the rats would come out, and they did; and Aunt Sally she come in, and when we got back she was a- standing on top of the bed raising Cain, and the rats was doing what they could to keep off the dull times for her. So she took and dusted us both with the hickry, and we was as much as two hours catching another fifteen or sixteen, drat that meddlesome cub, and they warn't the likeliest, nuther, because the first haul was the pick of the flock. I never see a likelier lot of rats than what that first haul was.

I may be a little fool,’ retorted Miss Challoner, plucking up spirit, ‘but at least I meant it for the best. While as for you, my lord, you meant nothing but wicked mischief right from the start.

some people might argue that a fan who roots for a losing franchise isn't a very smart fan, but you have to be pretty crafty in the head to continually enjoy cubs baseball. who do you think is smarter? the Yankees fan who can't be happy just getting to the World Series? or the Cubs fan, who can somehow manage to have the best summer of his life watching his team finish 17 games out of first place

The beauty of baseball is multidimensional, appealing to the eye and the mind. There is beauty, for instance, in its geometry, the space between the bases and the fielders; beauty in the arc of the season, which brings us out of doors to gather, until fall calls us back in; and beauty in its democracy, that each player hits in turn. But one of its greatest beauties is that, more than any other sport, it emboldens an expertise from those who watch it. Everybody can manage. That does not happen as easily in other sports. In

Change before you have to.—Jack Welch Wisdom is the reward for a lifetime of listening when you would have preferred to talk.—Doug Larson Communication creates collaboration. Big ears are better than big egos. When you’re not listening, ask good questions.—Bill Walsh The

You're walking through a field all by yourself one day in spring, and this sweet little bear cub with velvet fur and shiny little eyes comes walking along. And he says to you, "Hi there, little lady. Want to tumble with me?" So you and the bear cub spend the whole day in each other's arms, tumbling down this clover-covered hill. Nice, huh?" "Yeah. Really nice. "That's how much I like you." "That is the best thing I've ever heard.

The animals I have encountered in my wilderness wanderings have been reluctant to reveal all the things about them I would like to know. The animal that impresses me most, the one I find myself liking more and more, is the grizzly. No sight encountered in the wilds is quite so stirring as those massive, clawed tracks pressed into mud or snow. No sight is quite so impressive as that of the great bear stalking across some mountain slope with the fur of his silvery robe rippling over his mighty muscles. His is a dignity and power matched by no other in the North American wilderness. To share a mountain with him for a while is a privilege and an adventure like no other. I have followed his tracks into an alder hell to see what he had been doing and come to the abrupt end of them, when the maker stood up thirty feet away with a sudden snort to face me. To see a mother grizzly ambling and loafing with her cubs across the broad, hospitable bosom of a flower-spangled mountain meadow is to see life in true wilderness at its best.

I was a kid in Florida, in Sarasota, and the New York Giants trained in Sarasota. When teams would come, we’d stand outside the ballpark, and we would get the balls they hit over the fence during batting practice. We’d sell them to the tourists. And we made a stepladder so we could climb a pine tree out there. That way we could look into the ballpark. The Yanks were in town. I’m out there behind the fence, and I hear this sound. I’d never heard THAT sound off the bat before. Instead of me running to get the ball, I ran up the ladder to see who was hitting it. Well, it was a barrel-chested sucker, with skinny legs, with the best swing I’d ever seen. That was Babe Ruth hitting that ball. Yeah. I don’t hear that sound again until 1938, I’m with the Monarchs, we’re at Griffith Stadium in Washington D.C. We’re upstairs, changing clothes, and the Grays are taking batting practice. I’ve got nothing on but my jock. And I hear that sound. I ran down the runway, ran out on the field, and there’s a pretty black sucker with a big chest and about 34 in the waist, prettiest man I’d ever seen. That was Josh Gibson hitting that ball. And I don’t hear the sound again until I’m a scout with the Cubs. I’m scouting the Royals. When I opened the door to go downstairs, I heard that sound again. I rushed down on the field, and here’s another pretty black sucker hitting that ball. That was Bo Jackson. That’s three times I heard the sound. Three times. But I want to hear it a fourth. I go to the ballpark every day. I want to hear that sound again.

The best gig in the world is a packed bar on a Friday night. Reason: Everybody gets paid and everybody wants to get laid. Any band that can't go over on a Friday night should be shot.

Are we through here? I wish to go" "Go where?" "Anywhere. Away. Back to America, if need be. It's obvious that Charles's faith and trust in his family's desire to care for his baby daughter were unfounded. Neither she nor I are wanted here." "Don't be absurd." She reached for Charlotte's blanket. "I am being practical." "Practicality is not a quality I associate with most females of my acquaintance." "With all due respect to the females of your acquaintance, Your Grace, I was born and raised in the wilderness of Maine. Those who were not practical, resourceful, and hardy did not survive." "Maine? How is it, then, that you ended up in Boston?" "My father died when I was sixteen, mauled by a black bear defending her cub. He had a cousin in Boston, who'd always fancied my mother from afar. After Papa died, he came for Mama and me, married her, and took us both back to Boston. Mama died in '74. You know about my stepfather."  She picked up her cloak, preparing to leave this house and never look back. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Your Grace, I think I've answered enough of your questions and had best be gone. Good night to you." He never moved as she breezed past his desk, Charlotte in her arms. "Don't you wish to know how Lord Gareth fares?" he asked mildly, in an abrupt change of subject. "Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but you gave me no chance to ask." "I should think he'd like to thank you for saving his life." She paused halfway across the room, silently cursing him between her teeth. What tarnal game was he playing now? Without turning, she ground out, "He saved my life, not the other way around." "Not according to Lord Brookhampton.

Only when the world disappeared into fiction, did Orion know what it was like to feel love.

The power of a boy's dream is one of life's little miracles, the way it wraps itself around the heart and remains through old age to the last breath.

Farmer Ben disappeared into a nearby shed and came back carrying two buckets. Some of the cubs covered their noses. “It’s not the best-smelling stuff in the world,” said Ben, “but potatoes love it.” He handed one of the buckets to Ferdy. “Now, son, I want you to toss a bucketful of fertilizer over each half of this plot. Go to it.” Ferdy stood at the edge of the plot, facing east. But the rising sun was in his eyes. So he walked around to the other side and faced west, away from the sun. He got a good two-handed grip om the bucket and steadied himself. “Uh-oh,” the cubs heard Farmer Ben mutter. With all his strength, Ferdy flung the bucketful of fertilizer into the wind. And the wind flung it right back in his face. “Ar-r-r-gh!” cried Ferdy. Hope you had your mouth closed!” cracked Queenie as the other cubs laughed. No one laughed harder than Trudy. “Beginner’s mistake,” said Farmer Ben, handing Ferdy a rag to wipe his face with.

pranced to her cub's side. "Lucky!" she yelled. "How many times do I have to tell you to go home and stay with your siblings? You are a tiny lion cub, not a brave adventurer!" The mother lizard smiled up at Lucky. "Actually, I'm not so sure," she said. "This little cub travelled across the entire jungle and brought my lost baby home. That makes him the bravest, greatest adventurer this jungle has ever seen!" Lucky's mother's jaw dropped. She looked at the lizard. She looked at Lucky. Then she smiled. "You have proven me wrong. You really are a great adventurer! But a tiny cub like you, traveling across the entire jungle? How did you do it?" she asked. "Roar!" Lucky cried. He stood tall, puffed up his chest and said; "Because I am Lucky!" Lucky and Pec the parrot’s great adventure! The next day, Lucky was feeling especially brave. After all he saved a little lizard from the dangers of the jungle and brought him safely home. His mother was so proud of him that she didn't even punish him for not babysitting his brothers and sisters! She even gave him the best part of their meal for dinner. And he had permission to spend 2 hours in the jungle this very morning. But he had to stay close to home and come back in time to babysit his younger brother and sisters. "There is much adventuring to be done in just 2 hours!" he said to himself, as walked under the shady green canopy, following a path into the jungle. "But I am the bravest, greatest adventurer in the jungle. Watch out jungle! Here I come! Roooaaaar! “Suddenly he saw the tall grass to his right sway, but there wasn't any wind. The grass rustled as if someone was moving around. Lucky crouched down in his stalking pose that he had practiced as part of his adventure skills. He crept forward, his golden-green eyes wide and fixed on the swaying grass. Slowly, oh so slowly he moved closer and closer. He was right in front of the tall green grass, and heard the rustling again. "ROOOOOAAAARRR!" He burst through the grass with his very best roar and his very best pounce. "AAAAACCCCCCKKKKKK" screeched a large shiny grey parrot. "What is wrong with you?! It is extremely rude to just bust into a parrot's home without knocking! I swear, kids these days just don't have any manners!" The parrot shrieked right into Lucky's ear. "Owwww. Stop it! I am a brave adventurer and I am saving you!" Lucky snapped back, "It's also rude to yell in the ear of the lion saving your life" The parrot's head feathers stood up on the back of his head like he had a mohawk, and he glared at Lucky from piercing yellow eyes. "Lions are known to eat birds like me. I am not going to let my glorious self, become your breakfast. I am a mighty warrior and if you eat me, I will give you a very upset belly. I promise". Lucky laughed a barky lion laugh, "I do not eat birds. My mother is a great hunter and brings home only the biggest and fattest of animals for us to eat. Besides, I will be a great adventurer, the greatest and bravest in the jungle". Pec's shimmering grey head feathers slowly lowered. He shook his head, stuck his beak under his wing and looked at Lucky from the corner of his yellowish eye. "A brave adventurer, hmm? You look more like a little lion cub getting into mischief" he said as he brought his head from under his wing. “My name is Pec. What is yours?" he asked. "My name is Lucky and I don't get into mischief. Just yesterday I saved a lizard from a deep, scary crack in the ground. He could have died. I even took him home and it was a long ways away" Lucky said as proudly as he could after being squawked at by a big feathery bird. Pec's eyes twinkled at him and he opened his sharply hooked beak letting out a squeaky laugh. "I believe you, young Lucky. And, since you are so good at helping others, could you

Three and a half hours and a lot of curse words and tears later, my hands still ached, my elbows did too, and every step I took hurt the joints in my knees and the painfully stretched skin covering them. If I didn’t have black pants on, I was sure I’d look like I’d gotten into a fight with a bear cub and lost. Bad. Feeling defeated but trying my best not to, I sucked in one breath after another, forcing my feet to keep fucking going until I made it to the stupid-ass parking lot. I’d gone through periods of pure rage toward everything on the way down. Over the trail in the first place. Over doing this. Over the sun being out. At my mom for bamboozling me. I’d even been pissed off at my boots and would have taken them off and thrown them into the trees, but that was considered littering and there were too many rocks. It was the boots’ fault for being slippery, the sons of bitches. I was donating them the first chance I got, I’d decided at least ten times. Maybe I’d burn them. Okay, I wouldn’t because it was bad for the environment and there was still a fire ban in effect, but whatever. Pieces of shit.

So here I am tonight. I’ve followed him from his small house to his round of singles bars and finally to the apartment complex where the woman lives. The one he picked up in the last bar. He’s got to come out sometime. I’ve got the Louisville Slugger laid across my lap and the Cubs cap cinched in place. I won’t put the shades on until I see him. No sense straining my eyes. Not at my age. I miss Ralph. About now he’d be working himself up doing his best Clint Eastwood and trying to dazzle me with all his bad cop stories. I’m pretty sure I can handle this, but even if it works out all right, it’s still flying solo. And let me tell you, flying solo can get to be pretty dammed lonely.

A lively imagination is one of the best things a cub can have. It's imagination that lets us paint pictures, make up poems, invent inventions!

Life is like a hunter remaining with only one bullet while faced with a mother bear with a wounded cub. You give it the best shot and can't afford to miss because you might not have a second chance.

Their 108-year wait for another title was the longest championship drought in sports. The last time they did win the World Series, in 1908, occurred in the lifetimes of Mark Twain, Florence Nightingale, Geronimo, Winslow Homer, and Joshua Chamberlain, and in a world when the Ottoman Empire still existed but the 19th Amendment, talking motion pictures, electrified traffic lights, and world wars did not.

That's how behind we were, one employee said. We were killing a lot of trees in the digital age.

We sat down to eat, right?” continued Gonzales. “And so... yeah, we sat down to eat and then we talked about chairs. Chairs! That drove our conversation gooooood. And none of us wanted to talk about it, but we smiled and made the best of it. Said a bunch of smart things about chairs—and French café chairs, and shopping for one, and sofas and her thoughts on the proper cushioning. And it was very engaging, but why didn’t any of us cut the crap and say, ‘I don’t care about chairs. I want to— I don’t know—roll around in the grass with you!’ We just spend the whole couple of hours able to grasp each other’s ideas and respond perfectly, but it’s so careful that we don’t get anywhere. I don’t know why that happens. We got love all up in our heads, man. We articulate who we are, but we don’t show people. She and I are just clever. There’s no chemistry in being clever. I mean, why interview on dates man? It’s not like anyone’s gonna tell the truth. Better to lay down with her, like cubs, really be with her, and see if we want to hold each other or not. But you can’t ask someone to do that, huh?” said Gonzales, defeated.

DO YOUR BEST" is the Cub Scout motto. It is a reminder that as long as you try and give things your best effort you will succeed. It teaches us that no matter how hard we try to accomplish whatever goal or task we have, as long as we give it a go and try our best, that is what really counts. If you do nothing there will be nothing.

Ethan slumped on the bench in the change room, ignoring the ribald behavior around him after yet another foregone win. A hard slap on the rear of his head roused him and he whirled, his lip curled back as he growled menacingly. “Don’t you dare show me your teeth,” Javier warned with a dark look. He ran his hand through hair, already tousled and sweaty from the match. “What the fuck happened out there? I passed you the perfect shot, and instead of grabbing it and scoring, you crashed into the g**damn arena glass. What are you, a rookie? Been watching too many Bugs Bunny cartoons?” Heat burned Ethan’s cheeks in remembrance of his mishap before dejection— along with a large dose of disbelief— quickly set back in. “I missed. It happens and besides, it’s not like we needed the point to win.” “Of course we didn’t,” Javier replied with a scoffing snort. “But it’s the point of it. What the hell distracted you so much? And, why do you look like your best friend died, which, I might add, is an impossibility given I’m standing right beside you.” Javier grinned. “I think I found my mate,” Ethan muttered. A true beauty with light skin, a perfect oval face framed by long, brown hair and the most perfect set of rosebud lips. Javier’s face expressed shock, then glee. “Congrats, dude.” Javier slapped him hard on the back, and while the blow might have killed a human or a smaller species, it didn’t even budge Ethan. “I know you’ve been pining to settle down with someone of the fairer sex. You must be ecstatic.” “Not really.” Although he should have been. Finding one’s mate was a one in a zillion chance given how shifters were scattered across the globe. Most never even came close to finding the one fate deemed their perfect match. His friend’s jovial grin subsided. “What’s wrong? Was she, like, butt ugly? Humongous? Old? Surely she can’t be that bad?” “No, she appears perfect. Or did.” Ethan groaned as banged his head off the locker door. “I am so screwed.” A frown creased Javier’s face. “I don’t get it. I thought you wanted to find the one, you sick bastard. Settle down and pop out cubs.” Ethan looked up in time to see Javier’s mock shudder. “Me, I prefer to share my love among as many women as possible.” Javier mimed slapping an ass then humping it with a leering grin. Ethan didn’t smile at Javier’s attempt at humor even if it happened to be the truth. Javier certainly enjoyed variety where the other sex was concerned. Heck, on many an occasion he’d shared with Ethan. Tag team sessions where they both scored. Best friends who did just about everything together. Blowing out a long sigh, Ethan answered him. “I do want to find my mate, actually, I’m pretty sure I already have, but I don’t think I made a great impression. She’s the one they took out on the stretcher after the ball I missed hit her in the face.” Javier winced. “Ouch. Sucks to be you, my friend. Don’t worry, though. I’m sure she’ll forgive you in, like, fifty years.” Ethan groaned and dropped his head back into his hands. Now that I’ve found her, how do I discover who she is so I can beg her forgiveness? And even worse, how the hell do I act the part of suitor? Raised in the Alaskan wilds by a father who wasn’t all there after the death of Ethan’s mother, his education in social niceties was sadly lacking. He tended to speak with his fists more often than not. Lucky for him, when it came to women, he didn’t usually have to do a thing. Females tended to approach him for sex so they could brag afterward that they’d ridden the Kodiak and survived. Not that Ethan would ever hurt a female, even if his idea of flirty conversation usually consisted of “Suck me harder” and “Bend over.” If I add “darling” on the end, will she count it as sweet talk?

Don’t get mad at me for asking this, but why do you like him? I mean, I know you guys have the autistic sibling thing in common, but that can’t be the whole story.” “It’s not.” I want to explain, but it’s not easy. “You know that viral video that everyone was into a few years ago? About the lion who gets reunited with the guy who raised him as a cub? And the lion, like, licks him and hugs him and plays with him? And it’s amazing?” She raises her eyebrows. “You saying David’s a lion?” “It’s just . . . it’s easy to get a dog to love you. But it’s a lot harder—​and cooler—​to get a lion to. Especially if you’re the only person he doesn’t attack.” “I hope there’s a sexual metaphor somewhere in this whole lion thing,” Sarah says. “Because, honestly, that’s the only reason that would actually make sense to me.” “I don’t think either of us has a problem with you leaping to that assumption,” I say with an exaggerated wink. “Seriously,” she says. “Calling him a lion . . . I have issues with this.” “It’s just a metaphor.” “I know. But I don’t want you to be involved with someone who could hurt you.” “He wouldn’t. Not ever. He thinks the world is a shitty place, but he also thinks I’m the best thing in it. Well, me and his brother.” “Great,” she says. “Now you’re making me jealous. I’m jealous of your relationship with David Fields. Could I be a bigger loser?” “I’m not even telling you the best parts.” “Good,” she says. “Spare me

Hello, there, young'uns!" he said, squeezing the cubs in a big bear hug. "Are you ready for our great Thanksgiving feast?" "Yes, Gramps," said Sister. "But, you know, we should also think about all our Thanksgiving blessings." "I always do!" said Gramps, leading them inside and into the kitchen. "And the Thanksgiving blessing I think about most is Grizzly Gran, herself--the best cook in Bear Country!" "Now, Gramps," scolded Gran. "Stop your nonsense and help get the food on.

Take heart, young one, as you transform from cub to lion. It's a difficult path, and though we've all made the journey before, there's still no guide on how to grow up. You simply, do.

I now know my children will live in a world far different from own. In their world, the Cubs are the best team in baseball.

One of the best methods for handling negative news is that of Joe Maddon, the coach of the Chicago Cubs and avowed oenophile. In his office, Maddon keeps a glass bowl filled with slips of paper, each inscribed with the name of an expensive wine. When a player violates a team rule, Maddon asks them to draw a slip of paper out of the bowl, purchase that wine, and uncork it with their manager. In other words, Maddon links the act of discipline to the act of reconnection.

32. Laugh At Yourself Everyone always warms to people who can laugh at themselves. It’s human nature - and the best jokes are always against ourselves. It shows character, humility and grace. So don’t take yourself too seriously: if you fall in the mud, just sit up tall and laugh. Conversely, note how those who laugh at others are the people we instinctively pull away from. People who laugh at others are really showing that they think they’re better than the people they’re making fun of. And if they laugh at them, then we naturally think that maybe next time they will be laughing at us - behind our backs. And no one likes that. The ability to laugh at yourself also shows to others that you adhere to one of the great teachings of the Bible: Be humble, and consider others better than yourself. Great people make you feel great about yourself. They build others up, they pay compliments often and freely, and they don’t pull others down to push themselves up. So laugh at yourself, not others; build others up before yourself; and talk well, not nastily, about others in public. I love this idea: How you speak about others speaks loudest about yourself. It is so true (which is why there’s a whole chapter on it later in the book). It is one of my life goals that, at my funeral, those who know me will be able to stand up and say they never heard me speak badly of anyone else. (By the way, I have failed at this many times already, but it is still a good goal to have!) Like you, I am still a work in progress, but I am trying, like you, to do better. Every day a little kinder, a little more generous, and taking myself a little less seriously. Great men and women never take themselves seriously. It is part of what makes them great. Look at the animals: the strongest grizzly bear still rolls around with her cubs, goofing. It is part of their strength and magnetic appeal.

I FIRST CAME UNDER THE TIGER’S SPELL FIFTY-FOUR years ago, at the age of ten, sitting astride an elephant in Corbett National Park in the Lower Himalayas of north India. It was early in the morning and ten elephants were sweeping through high grass in an attempt to spring some tigers into a clearing on the far side. I remember looking down from my perch and seeing a tigress snarling up at the elephant and then darting away with two large cubs at her heels. I was struck by that experience and continue to remember it vividly. It was thirteen years after this encounter that I saw my next tiger in Ranthambhore. The year was 1976. That was the year my life with tigers truly began. This book is not only about my favourite tigers but also the very best of my encounters with one of the most magnificent animals to walk the face of the planet. Over the past forty years I have tried to serve them as best as I could. It was a dream for me to publish my first book nearly thirty-five years ago and to share my experiences with tigers with people across the world. This is my thirtieth publication and I have loved every minute of my time as an author. Through my books I have shared some of the best photographs showing the diversity of tigers in the wild. This time around I have used only a bunch of sketches. I have to thank Rose Corcoran for her brilliant sketches. My Ranthambhore journey would not have been possible without Fateh Singh Rathore, the wildlife warden, welcoming me into the folds of the park.