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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.
You don't need a pickup line. Just glance at a woman from across the room. Glance - don't stare.
Anytime I feel lost, I pull out a map and stare. I stare until I have reminded myself that life is a giant adventure, so much to do, to see.
I stare at myself in the mirror and I think, 'Wow, I'm really great-looking.'... I think I'm the greatest, anyway.
I could happily lean on a gate all the livelong day, chatting to passers-by about the wind and the rain. I do a lot of gate-leaning while I am supposed to be gardening; instead of hoeing, I lean on the gate, stare at the vegetable beds and ponder.
Every time I step onto an airplane, I turn to the right and take a good, hard stare into the maw of the engine. I don't know what I'm looking for. I just do it.
My brother and I were meditating before we were 6 years old, having to stare at the wall and chant.
First impressions matter more in basketball than in any other sport, and they can be savored only in person. Players can't hide behind pads or helmets, so we can stare at them, evaluate every move they make: running, jumping, walking, even ogling the cheerleaders. We can see every ripple and tattoo. If they're lazy, we can tell.
A poor life this if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.
I realize I stare at everyone, especially when I'm walking down the street. I'm just a curious person.