If I played in New York, they’d name a candy bar after me.

I do love cricket—it’s so very English.

Idolatry is the mother of all games.

Courage and grace is a formidable mixture. The only place to see it is in the bullring.

Gambling is the child of avarice, the brother of iniquity, and the father of mischief.

Sport is the bloom and glow of a perfect health.

I never yet could make out why men are so fond of hunting; they often hurt themselves, often spoil good horses, and tear up the fields—and all for a hare or a fox or a stag that they could get more easily some other way.

Recreations should be as sauces to your meat, to sharpen your appetite unto the duties of your calling, and not to glut yourselves with them.

No human being is innocent, but there is a class of innocent human actions called games.

If I lose at play, I blaspheme, and if my fellow loses, he blasphemes. So that God is always sure to be the loser.

A passion for horses, players, and gladiators seems to be the epidemic folly of the times. The child receives it in his mother’s womb; he brings it with him into the world, and in a mind so possessed, what room for science, or any generous purpose?

We cannot say what the woman might be physically, if the girl were not allowed all the freedom of the boy in romping, climbing, swimming, playing whoop and ball.

The gods play games with men as balls.