You and I were created for joy, and if we miss it we miss the reason for our existence. If our joy is honest joy, it must somehow be congruous with human tragedy. This is the test of joy's integrity. It is compatible with pain. Only the heart that hurts has a right to joy.
And the true realism, always and everywhere, is that of the poets: to find out where joy resides, and give it a voice far beyond singing. For to miss the joy is to miss all.
I think a lot of people miss out on opportunities, they miss out on achieving their dream, and they miss out on doing what they love to do because they're allowing something else, something outside of them and outside of God, to dictate what their life's going to look like.
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.
What I miss about football is being in the dressing room. But do I miss three o'clock on a Saturday afternoon when matters are totally out of your hands? No, I don't. Do I miss placing my destiny in the hands of others? No, I don't. I loved it as a player. I liked it as a manager. But that's all come and gone.
I was an athlete growing up and I miss that. I miss hanging out with dudes and making raunchy jokes and telling stories, trading details, you know? There's something I really miss about that.
I'm never home. I miss birthdays. I miss holidays. I miss anniversaries. I miss special moments. I'm not always there for important times, because I'm out on the road trying to make people laugh. I give up my privacy. I give up the ability to walk somewhere and relax.
What do you miss about being alive?" The sound of my mom singing, a little off-key. The way my dad went to all my swim meets and I could hear his whistle when my head was underwater, even if he did yell at me afterward for not trying harder. I miss going to the library. I miss the smell of clothes fresh out of the dryer. I miss diving off the highest board and nailing the landing. I miss waffles" - p. 272.
I don't miss the limelight, not at all. I'm just more comfortable out of it. I don't miss 'Monday Night Football.' I just don't miss it. I'm lucky. When I stopped playing, I didn't miss it. I feel blessed that it's not been a problem. I have great memories. I feel really lucky.
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.
A great man once wrote, "Absence diminishes small loves and increases great ones, as the wind blows out the candle and blows up the bonfire." If only I were as eloquent as Mr. de la Rochefoucauld...I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. And I want you. And I need your kiss. And your touch on my skin like a man needs water. Always.
I miss my friends in London, and I really miss New York. But I also miss the stability of staying in one place and being able to just open a drawer if you've run out of sticky tape and chuck a new roll in the holder.
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.
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.
Playing at the highest level alongside your friends, scoring runs for your country are things that I look back and go, 'Ah, I miss that a little bit,' but there's a lot I don't miss. I don't miss 90 per cent of it.