David Cone Quotes

People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.

Players are fundamentally the same - regardless of what they earn. They want to improve and want to be part of something.

In spring training, I just try to spread everything out so I can be 100 percent before the season starts. I don't want to start feeling like I don't get it once the season starts. I want to be 100 percent on Opening Day.

Some players need pressure to get the best out of themselves.

When I run, I always pretend I am running toward Nikki, and it makes me feel like I am decreasing the amount of time I have to wait until I see her again.

I don't stretch my hand out anymore, but I never get tired of waiting for the next magic.

We were always dreaming of how it was going to be.

I hope that's true, because I figured out why I'd never finished it, what I was waiting for. I was waiting for you, Clare. For them. For us. I want to finish it up for you, for them, for us.

Spring training means flowers, people coming outdoors, sunshine, optimism and baseball. Spring training is a time to think about being young again.

Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia.

Up on the roof Tatiana thought about the evening minute, the minute she used to walk out the factory doors, turn her head to the left even before her body turned, and look for his face. The evening minute as she hurried down the street, her happiness curling her mouth upward to the white sky, the red wings speeding her to him, to look up at him and smile.

Will that light come again, As now these tears come...falling hot and real!

Love plans for tomorrow and loneliness thinks of yesterday.

When I’m running, there’s always this split second when the pain is ripping through me and I can hardly breathe and all I see is color and blur—and in that split second, right as the pain crests, and becomes too much, and there’s a whiteness going through me, I see something to my left, a flicker of color […]—and I know then, too, that if I only turn my head he’ll be there, laughing, watching me, and holding out his arms. I don’t ever turn my head to look, of course. But one day I will. One day I will, and he’ll be back, and everything will be okay. And until then: I run.

He could not wait to get rid of them so he could enjoy remembering them.

Because it is senior year I have begun to see things as potential absences. The things I love will become the things I'll miss.

It was mint and memories and the past and the future and she felt as if she’d done this before and already she longed to do it again.

Love is not simply the sum of sweet greetings and wrenching partings and kisses and embraces, but is made up more of the memory of what has happened and the imagining of what is to come.

I've always had an a$$-to-the-brain theory. When a player's a$$ gets put on the bench, a message goes straight to the brain saying, Get me off of here.

And there I sat, long long ago, waiting for the world to know me.

Last season I scored 27 goals but still lost out against Robert Lewandowski. This season has started very well for me, but again I have some tough opponents, most notably with Anthony Modeste from FC Koln. I texted him the other day: "Keep calm, my friend." I am happy for him to be so successful. And in a certain way it even helps me. The better the other strikers are, the more I have to work to be to be ahead of them.

On the other hand, we worked a year on this and some people are going to watch it in a night and go, "We want more!" And there is something I miss about the longing and the anticipation for the next episode.

He nods, as if to acknowledge that endings are almost always a little sad, even when there is something to look forward to on the other side.

It's so strange how life works: You want something and you wait and wait and feel like it's taking forever to come. Then it happens and it's over and all you want to do is curl back up in that moment before things changed.

Something that had the quality of a dimly lit stage set just before the curtains rise on opening night. There was a rhythm to it, a beckoning, and a bittersweet tear in time.