Quotes About Season

No matter what the football season is like, no matter what you're going through with it, when you start to do things in the community and start to impact lives, it does make those successes or failures small in comparison.

Right before I left ESPN, someone suggested doing a NFL story in the spring. The person was laughed out of the room.

My favorite part of 'Suits' is when we go back in time, and we do learn more. I hope we do more of that in Season 6.

Spiders are always big in the autumn: they've had all summer to grow.

August, the summer's last messenger of misery, is a hollow actor.

Humidity notwithstanding, summer seems to bring out the best of Cincinnati.

Now I take the summer off, relax, and I know that at the end of July we're gonna start another season.

That's one of the great gifts of this, the greatest of all games, baseball: it allows you, still, to lose yourself in a dream, to feel and remember a season of life when summer never seemed to die and the assault of cynicism hadn't begun to batter optimism.

Summertime, and the reading is easy... Well, maybe not easy, exactly, but July and August are hardly the months to start working your way through the works of Germanic philosophers. Save Hegel, Heidegger, and Husserl for the bleaker days of February.

What people don't understand is the summertime is motivation - how willing you're willing to work for the upcoming season - and I think, as older players, once you see that drive fall off in the summer, then I think it's time to hang it up.

In the summertime, it's always hard to introduce new series; everyone's ready for that in the fall.

Before I joined professional baseball, I started umpiring in San Diego, California. I worked 155 games in a five-month season. For three years in a row, I was working tripleheaders on Saturday and doubleheaders on Sunday.

Every player should be accorded the privilege of at least one season with the Chicago Cubs. That's baseball as it should be played - in God's own sunshine. And that's really living.

There is no future. This is the season. Get to the Super Bowl.

8-8 is like winning the Super Bowl for the organization in Cincinnati.

I think the NFL season starts with the first three or four games and all the predictions come out. You're either great on offense, bad on defense, great on defense, bad on offense. You're either going to have a Super Bowl chance or you won't. And I think after that, people kind of think everything's set in stone.

How we squander our hours of pain. How we gaze beyond them into the bitter duration to see if they have an end. Though they are really our winter-enduring foliage, our dark evergreen, one season in our inner year—, not only a season in time—, but are place and settlement, foundation and soil and home.

Not wooing, no longer shall wooing, voice that has outgrown it be the nature of your cry; but instead, you would cry out as purely as a bird when the quickly ascending season lifts him up, nearly forgetting that he is a suffering creature and not just a single heart being flung into brightness, into the intimate skies.

How dear will you be to me then, you nights of affliction. Why couldn't I kneel more deeply and accept you, inconsolable sisters, or lose myself more freely in your loosened hair. We spendthrifts of sorrows. How we scan beyond them ahead into sad duration to see if perhaps they might have an end. But they are truly our winter-hardy foliage, the dark green of our life's meaning, one season of our secret year—, not only time—, but also place, settlement, shelter, soil, abode.

That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain… .

Home is elusive. It shapeshifts with the currents of my heart and its will. Home is a trickster changing according to the medicine of the season and its lesson. -Prodigal Daughters (Kimberly Wesnaut)

A wet autumn morning, a garbage truck clattering down the street. The first snowfall of the season, blossom sized flakes falling languidly and melting on the ground, a premature snow fall delicate as lace, rapidly melting.

Life contracts and death is expected, As in a season of autumn. The soldier falls. He does not become a three-days personage, Imposing his separation, Calling for pomp. Death is absolute and without memorial, As in a season of autumn, When the wind stops, When the wind stops and, over the heavens, The clouds go, nevertheless, In their direction.

THE DEATH OF A SOLDIER Life contracts and death is expected, As in a season of autumn. The soldier falls. He does not become a three-days personage, Imposing his separation, Calling for pomp. Death is absolute and without memorial, As in a season of autumn, When the wind stops, When the wind stops and, over the heavens, The clouds go, nevertheless, In their direction.