Danny Casey Quotes in Going Places
There was a wooden bench beneath a solitary elm where lovers sometimes came. She sat down to wait. It was the perfect place, she had always thought so, for a meeting of this kind. For those who wished not to be observed. She knew he would approve.
I remember Geoff saying he would never come, and how none of them believed me when I told them. I wonder what will I do, what can I tell them now if he doesn’t come? But we know how it was, Danny and me — that’s the main thing. How can you help what people choose to believe? But all the same, it makes me despondent, this knowing I’ll never be able to show them they’re wrong to doubt me.
“Excuse me, but aren’t you Danny Casey?”
Coming through the arcade she pictured him again outside Royce’s.
He turns, reddening slightly. “Yes, that’s right.”
“I watch you every week, with my dad and my brothers. We think you’re great.”
No taller than you. No bolder than you. The prodigy. The innocent genius. The great Danny Casey.
And she saw it all again, last Saturday — saw him ghost past the lumbering defenders, heard the fifty thousand catch their breath as he hovered momentarily over the ball, and then the explosion of sound as he struck it crisply into the goal, the sudden thunderous eruption of exultant approbation.
Danny Casey Quotes in Going Places
There was a wooden bench beneath a solitary elm where lovers sometimes came. She sat down to wait. It was the perfect place, she had always thought so, for a meeting of this kind. For those who wished not to be observed. She knew he would approve.
I remember Geoff saying he would never come, and how none of them believed me when I told them. I wonder what will I do, what can I tell them now if he doesn’t come? But we know how it was, Danny and me — that’s the main thing. How can you help what people choose to believe? But all the same, it makes me despondent, this knowing I’ll never be able to show them they’re wrong to doubt me.
“Excuse me, but aren’t you Danny Casey?”
Coming through the arcade she pictured him again outside Royce’s.
He turns, reddening slightly. “Yes, that’s right.”
“I watch you every week, with my dad and my brothers. We think you’re great.”
No taller than you. No bolder than you. The prodigy. The innocent genius. The great Danny Casey.
And she saw it all again, last Saturday — saw him ghost past the lumbering defenders, heard the fifty thousand catch their breath as he hovered momentarily over the ball, and then the explosion of sound as he struck it crisply into the goal, the sudden thunderous eruption of exultant approbation.
