Quotes About Park

I started playing football with my mates and my brothers, in the playground or the park or the front garden. It was just about enjoying it, having a good time playing. I wanted to play all the time.

Being from New York, everybody's a point guard. Even when you play in the park, you've got to know how to handle the ball. If you can't handle the ball, you can't really play.

There's a Diebenkorn painting - 'Ocean Park No. 68' - that is the color of a swimming pool and always reminds me of summers at the beach.

thanks of my own. She drew me into a drawing room overlooking the park, elegantly furnished with brocade chairs and sofas. A huge bowl of out-of-season fruit was on a side table, along with the sort of floral tributes that seemed to accompany Miss Sheehan wherever she went.

First there was nothing. Then there was everything. Then, in a park above a western city after dusk, the air is raining messages.

He'd discovered that his memories of that summer were like bad movie montages - young lovers tossing a Frisbee in the park, sharing a melting ice-cream cone, bicycling along the river, laughing, talking, kissing, a sappy score drowning out the dialogue because the screenwriter had no idea what these two people might say to each other.

I stared at the river far below. Why did you park us on the mountain? Why not closer? Bast shrugged, as if this hadn't occurred to her. Cats like to get as high up as possible. In case we have to pounce on something. Great, I said. So if we have to pounce, we're all set.

She allowed the hum and buzz of the park to lullaby her. Life wasn't about becoming, was it? It was about being. Dr Kellet would have approved this thought. And everything was ephemeral, yet everything was eternal, she thought sleepily.

Ooh, big day in town for our park warden," I said. "They're even making you wear the uniform. Hayley's mom will be happy. She thinks you look hot in it." Dad turned as red as his hair. Mom's laugh floated out from her studio. "Maya Delaney. Leave your father alone.

I live in the park," I said. "I'm going to see a lot of wild animals." "Still, mountain lions…Never seen one myself." He slid a sidelong look my way. "Think you could fix that?" Like hell , I thought, but just kept walking.

Cocteau fell for Raray [shooting La Belle et la Bête ] ? the park, not the castle. We didn't shoot in the castle, only in the park, with that marvelous hunting scene in stone. I think it was mostly because the park wasn't properly maintained. That was what pleased Cocteau most ? the sense of wildness, exactly matching the nature of the beast.

Shoving the ends at him, I headed for the common. It wasn't far away: a green, tree-lined oasis, brightened with many seasonal varieties of Coca-Can discardus, Crisp-packetus-cheese-and-onionus, and the occasional, fragrant dog turd underfoot.

On May 26—just five days after Ram was released—John brought 'How Do You Sleep?' into Ascot Sound, the new recording studio built for him at Tittenhurst Park. Although

On Sunday morning, I like to go for a walk around London. If the weather is nice, I'll go to a park or on a lovely bike ride around the city.

My perfect weekend is going for a walk with my family in the park. I don't think there's anything better.

My favorite thing of all time is a New York City weekend when there's a blizzard. Everything gets really quiet, and everyone goes to the movies and the park.

If you want to know whether soccer is big in America, pick a weekend, go to any park in the land, and pay attention. We're there. We've always been.

I never intended to become an opposition political leader. Perhaps the government wants to raise me up into one.

'Pride and Prejudice' is often compared to 'Cinderella,' but Jane Austen's real 'Cinderella' tale is 'Mansfield Park.'

And what does a single feather mean except the love we treasure, or a butterfly mean except the dreams we chase, the way those doves chased whatever called them from beyond the park, something beyond words, beyond the sky that gives away nothing except the longing to discover how love creates its own endless skies. — Richard Jackson, from "Poem for Amy," Broken Horizons (Press 53, 2018)

pulled out into the Chavez Ravine Road, headed toward Elysian Park Avenue and Sunset Boulevard. We'd driven

An intellectual might lose her virginity to a soldier in the park, but she could learn to look back on it with wry, amused detachment. An intellectual might have a mother who showed her underpants when drunk, but she wouldn't let it bother her. And Emily Grimes might not be an intellectual yet, but if she took copious notes in even the dullest of her classes, and if she read every night until her eyes ached, it was only a question of time.

Pike did not move his eye from the sight picture. Cole, Ramos, Park. The Zeiss was fitted with a laser range finder displaying the range in tiny red numerals in the upper right quadrant of the sight picture. Elvis Cole was forty-two meters away. Overkill. Stone

glanced up and saw a pair of kites, red with long blue tails, soaring in the sky. They danced high above the trees on the west end of the park, over the windmills, floating side by side like a pair of eyes looking down on San Francisco, the city I now call home.