Murray Walker Quotes

And now, excuse me while I interrupt myself.

The lead car is absolutely unique, except for the one behind it which is identical.

Listen. Outside this frame I can see light, heavy as pardon, reliable as granite. Help me. Help me drag it into the picture.

I don't make mistakes. I make prophecies which immediately turn out to be wrong.

IF is a very long word in Formula One; in fact, IF is F1 spelled backwards.

I remember standing against the bar in Budapest’s airport with a couple of workmates, some chaps from McLaren too, waiting for our homeward flight to be called after the ’92 race weekend. The chap behind the counter was doing the exact same thing: halving and squeezing oranges. Funny how these things spark memories. It was an exceedingly hot afternoon that day, and I remember seeing James Hunt walk through the door with Murray Walker. We were waiting for the same flight, a charter to London; I think pretty much the whole of the paddock’s British contingent was on it. Murray looked perfectly normal . . . like Murray really . . . open-necked shirt, briefcase, what have you; but James was wearing nothing but a pair of red shorts. He carried a ticket, a passport and a packet of cigarettes. That was it. There wasn’t even a pair of flip-flops to spoil the perfect minimalist look. The thing that really made the event stick in my mind, though, was that James was absolutely at ease with himself, perfectly comfortable. This was real for him, no stunt or affectation designed to impress or shock, this was genuine: James Hunt, former world champion driver, current commentator for the BBC; work done for the day . . . going home. Take me, leave me; do what you bloody well want, just don’t give me a hard time about your own petty hang-ups. He became a hero of mine that day. Sadly, his heart gave out the following summer and that was that. He was only forty-five. Mind you, he’d certainly packed a lot of living into those years.

There in the course of one hour, a little elderly woman who embodied the spirit of nonviolence single-handedly prevented loss of life, and a preppie young man with fast fists flying also prevented violence. I would not presume to judge who was doing the will of God on that snowy February afternoon.

That’s what the movement was all about. It was not to destroy anyone. It was to redeem, to save, to convert. It was to change people’s attitudes, their positions, their hearts. That’s what Dr. King spoke of—redeeming the soul of America, creating the beloved community.

Like fish, when metaphors get old, they go bad,” writes Christian poet Jeanne Murray Walker,9 and nowhere is that more apparent than among Christians on a Sunday morning.

Ian Bogost writes about a ‘rhetoric of failure’ in games designed so that the player cannot win (2007, 85). One could put Tetris or Space Invaders in such a category – the blocks or missiles keep falling until the player fails to keep them at bay, meaning that you will always, ultimately, lose the game. The winning situation, if there is one, is to get a higher score than your friends. Perhaps, as Janet Murray wrote of Tetris, this is a metaphor for a typical American life (1997, 144).

But, Father Murray didn’t want to say Mass, he wanted to play a round of golf. Father Murray told his associate pastor that he wasn’t feeling well, and asked him if he would say Mass for him at nine o’clock. The younger priest agreed, and suggested that Father Murray go back to bed. Father Murray loaded his clubs into the trunk, drove to a distant golf course, where he hoped not to be seen, and started his golf game. Up in Heaven, Saint Peter was appalled. He said, ‘Lord, are you going to let him get away with this?’ and the Lord replied, ‘Patience, Peter.’ Meanwhile, Father Murray was playing the game of his life. He was driving the ball three hundred and fifty yards, and making forty foot putts. Again, Saint Peter asked the Lord, ‘Lord, surely you don’t intend to reward Father Murray’s behavior?’ Again, the Lord told Peter to be patient. Finally, Father Murray reached the last hole. He lined up the tee shot, and hit a sizzling shot which headed right for the cup. It dropped, rolled, and fell in for a hole-in-one. Father Murray was overjoyed. Saint Peter was baffled. ‘Lord, why would you allow Father Murray to skip Mass, tell a lie, and then play the best golf game of his life?’ The Lord answered, ‘Who’s he gonna tell?

To leave queer Black women out of discussions of marriage is to overlook a significant Black woman identity—one that has underpinned the notion of liberated coupling, as well as the movement for Black women’s liberation in the bodies of women like Audre Lorde, Alice Walker, Pauli Murray, and the Combahee River Collective.

A ship in port is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for. - Grace Murray Cooper

There's nothing wrong with the car except that it's on fire.

Motor racing can never be totally safe and it never should be in my opinion.

If you don't trust someone to look after your investments, then they shouldn't be doing the job for you.