Quotes About Memories

Eventually, when I retire, I can say I've played at the Britannia Stadium on a Wednesday at 7 P. M. in the cold and wind.

I'm going to miss the wind tunnel between Buildings 3 and 4. The ways in which the parking situation forced me to get 'creative.' Bob Ley and his snide comments. Trey Wingo and his snarky comments. Meeting so many people who I respect the hell out of. And the bizarre if not dysfunctional 'SportsNation' family.

My parents played the Bee Gees; Earth, Wind & Fire; Michael Jackson. The best pop music to infiltrate a child's mind.

My earliest memory as a kid was when I was about six, my dad used to take me and our Labrador Glen for a walk. We used to take a wind up camera and go searching for crop circles. We'd make little notes and I'd take photos of the circles.

I love the idea of a tiny window between the back stoop and the pantry, where the milkman would pass through the cheese. But of course, there is no milkman anymore. So somebody coming by the house and seeing the window would say, 'Oh, that must be original, because that's where the milkman passed the cheese through to the pantry.'

I've come to realize that you live on through recordings; they're like a musical diary, a window into somebody's soul.

I had a little radio next to the bed and I'd just listen to the top 10 - I mean, it was crap but I was young - and I would get up in the dark with the moon coming in through the window and I would just dance in my pajamas in the dark to the top 10. I didn't have a CD player... so it was kind of all I had, you know?

I have bougainvillea and a magnolia tree outside my window. Not that anything will ever beat the view I had from my desk window in my little farmhouse in Nebraska. Just a dirt road stretching out as far as you could see, with prairie grass on either side.

The loneliness is when you pick up and move, even if you are not originally from that place, and you have some memories that you want to embrace. Having a life in transit, I feel like you are always looking out the back window.

I grew up surrounded by two farms and their fields. My earliest memories are of our mongrel dog running around and cows looking in the window while we ate our tea.

Sometimes, I'm driving along in my car, and a song from my high-school years comes on the radio: Springsteen's 'Thunder Road.' Just the opening few chords make me want to roll down the window and let the wind blow back my hair.

Early impressions are like glimpses seen through the window by night when lightning is about.

I can still remember how my mother would shout my name out of the window because I was playing football late at night and had school to attend the next day.

I was a girl from Massapequa, New York. I grew up in Massapequa. I lived in a basement with one window.

The first trip I remember taking was on the train from Virginia up to New York City, watching the summertime countryside rolling past the window. They used white linen tablecloths in the dining car in those days, and real silver. I love trains to this day. Maybe that was the beginning of my fixation with leisurely modes of travel.

I had this moment in church, which I think really turned me off. I was 7 or 8 years old and I was sitting at church, and we happened to be playing with the sunlight that was coming down from the stained glass window, and the monsignor came down to the pew and grabbed us by our neck collars and said, 'I'll deal with you.'

My mum raised me on 'On the Waterfront,' 'Gone with the Wind' and 'Rear Window.'

In 1972, I climbed out of my bedroom window and ran away from home with my older sister and her friends to go to the infamous Sunbury rock festival.

I was crawling out of the bedroom window with my older sister when I should have still been playing with dolls.

But I have this vivid memory of flying over Borneo down the coast to Singapore. It was a two-hour journey in those days, and I remember looking out the window for two hours at this amazing canopy of unbroken jungle beneath me.

I remember being a child eagerly looking out the Amtrak window, waiting for the New York City skyline to emerge.

My mum said I used to sing on the bus. I was about five and would simply sit, staring out of the window, singing to myself. When I got to the end of the song and everyone gave me a round of applause, it scared me because I was in my own little world, but I obviously loved singing even then.

My paternal grandmother, Nanny Hadley, lived in a block of flats in London; you could see the corner post of the Arsenal football ground from her front window. We were all supporters of Arsenal because of that.

I remember riding around with my friends with 'Ain't Even Done with the Night' cranked up and my windows down. Those were great days.