I miss him in so many ways, but right now I miss him in the way you always miss someone when you're single among a room full of couples.
Lord, what if I miss You? What if I miss You? What if I miss You? Oh, I'm so scared! God, what if I miss You? He answered simply, "Joyce, don't worry; if you miss Me, I will find you.
Putting is so difficult, so universally vexing, that the best the pros can do is tell us how to miss. 'Miss it on the pro side,' they say, meaning miss it above the hole. I can't even do that consistently. I miss it on the pro side. I miss it on the amateur side. I miss it on both sides of the clown's mouth.
I miss the hot spots. I miss the hospital calls. I miss the nursing homes. I miss the really intimate human contact with other people, which I did nothing to earn.
Do I miss the players? Do I miss the smell of the stadiums? Do I miss the adrenaline that comes from being there? I miss that a lot.
I do miss the people in the audience and the fun: "I came with my mother! And this is my mother!" I miss that. I miss: "My cousin and I came all the way from...." I miss that. I don't miss this - who is left to interview?
There are a lot of things about playing football that I miss. More than anything, I miss competing. I miss the camaraderie. I miss the locker room and the huddle and those kinds of things.
About 10 percent of the time, I miss 3 to 5 percent of the game. I look back, and I'm happy that I played. I'm not wistful. You miss big games. I miss the locker room camaraderie. Sometimes I miss the lifestyle.
It is funny, the things you miss about a more conventional lifestyle. I miss seemingly mundane tasks, like cleaning the kitchen, moving my furniture around to achieve just the right look, and checking the mailbox. I miss making my bed in the morning before work.
I won't miss Grissom. It was a complete life for me that's reached its end, and it's reached it in the right way, I think. So I won't miss Grissom. And I hope that the audience won't miss him either.
I can't take not knowing what the next day will bring- the uncertainty is sawing me in two. The room is dark. A flickering candle burns on the window ledge a few feet away. I take a deep breath, which is to say, as deep a breath as I can take. "Are you okay?" Sarah asks. I wrap my arms around her. "I miss you," I say. "You miss me? But I'm right here." "That's the worst way to miss somebody. When they' re right beside you and you miss them anyway.
I mean, I've - these other films were flukes. I don't know what I'm doing. I should just quit. What would I miss? I'd miss my house and I'd miss going to work. But I think the thing that I realized I would miss most is probably similar to everybody, which is your friends.
Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron,” Sebastian said approvingly. “Excellent choice.” “You have read this?” Alexei asked. “It’s not as good as Miss Davenport and the Dark Marquis, of course, but worlds better than Miss Sainsbury and the Mysterious Colonel.” Harry found himself rendered speechless. “I’m reading Miss Truesdale and the Silent Gentleman right now.” “Silent?” Harry echoed. “There is a noticeable lack of dialogue,” Sebastian confirmed.
Do I miss shoes? I miss the designing, but I don't miss the fashion industry. Those people eat their children.
I miss touring. I miss seeing people on the road. I miss that adrenaline rush; there's nothing like it.
As much as I miss the work, I don't miss NBC. I don't miss being there. It was just the wrong atmosphere for me.