How did it get so late so soon? Its night before its afternoon.

December is here before its June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?

This morning I took out a comma and this afternoon I put it back in again.

If you can spend a perfectly useless afternoon in a perfectly useless manner, you have learned how to live.

Leave all the afternoon for exercise and recreation, which are as necessary as reading. I will rather say more necessary because health is worth more than learning.

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Millions long for immortality who don't know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

If one morning I walked on top of the water across the Potomac River, the headline that afternoon would read: "President Can't Swim."

... millions long for immortality who don't know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

I would just like to mention Robert Houdin who in the eighteenth century invented the vanishing birdcage trick and the theater matinee - may he rot and perish. Good afternoon.

Growing up, I didn't have a lot of toys, and personal entertainment depended on individual ingenuity and imagination - think up a story and go live it for an afternoon.

We should live our lives as though Christ were coming this afternoon.

Summer afternoon -- summer afternoon;

to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.

The fifties -- they seem to have taken place on a sunny afternoon that asked nothing of you except a drifting belief in the moment and its power to satisfy.

In Europe the parents are included as with children.

All three generations are together. I'm thinking of Italy. You go out on a Sunday afternoon and the whole family is there.

To whom it may concern: It is springtime. It is late afternoon.

In its knowledges light, we must think and act not only for the moment but for our time. I am reminded of the great French Marshal Lyautey, who once asked his gardener to plant a tree. The gardener objected that the tree was slow-growing and would not reach maturity for a hundred years. The Marshal replied, In that case, there is no time to lose, plant it this afternoon.

It is a delicious thing to write, to be no longer yourself but to move in an entire universe of your own creating. Today, for instance, as man and woman, both lover and mistress, I rode in a forest on autumn afternoon under the yellow leaves, and I was also the horses, the leaves, the wind, the words my people uttered, even the red sun that made them almost close their love-drowned eyes. When I brood over these marvelous pleasures I have enjoyed, I would be tempted to offer God a prayer of thanks if I knew he could hear me. Praised may he be for not creating me a cotton merchant, a vaudevillian, or a wit.

Under certain circumstances there are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.

We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast, but when we say this we imagine that hour as placed in an obscure and distant future. It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance.

Facts quite often, I fear to confess, like lawyers, put me to sleep at noon.

Not theories, however. Theories are invigorating and tonic. Give me an ounce of fact and I will produce you a ton of theory by tea this afternoon. That is, after all, my job.

Because I have conducted my own operas and love sheep-dogs;

because I generally dress in tweeds, and sometimes, at winter afternoon concerts, have even conducted in them; because I was a militant suffragette and seized a chance of beating time to The March of the Women from the window of my cell in Holloway Prison with a tooth-brush; because I have written books, spoken speeches, broadcast, and don't always make sure that my hat is on straight; for these and other equally pertinent reasons, in a certain sense I am well known.

Millions long for immortality who do not know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

The gains in life come slowly and the losses come on suddenly.

You work for years to get your life the way you want it and buy the big house and the time share on Antigua and one afternoon you

I never married because there was no need.

I have three pets at home which answer the same purpose as a husband. I have a dog which growls every morning, a parrot which swears all afternoon and a cat that comes home late at night.

How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that's so deeply a part of your being that you can't even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more. Perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless.

Have you ever been out for a late autumn walk in the closing part of the afternoon and suddenly looked up to realize that the leaves have practically all gone? And the sun has set and the day gone before you knew it

There comes a moment in the day when you have written your pages in the morning, attended to your correspondence in the afternoon, and have nothing further to do. Then comes that hour when you are bored; that's the time for sex.

In communist society, where nobody has one exclusive sphere of activity but each can become accomplished in any branch he wishes, society regulates the general production and thus makes it possible for me to do one thing today and another tomorrow, to hunt in the morning, fish in the afternoon, rear cattle in the evening, criticize after dinner, just as I have a mind, without ever becoming hunter, fisherman, shepherd or critic.

I get satisfaction of three kinds. One is creating something, one is being paid for it and one is the feeling that I haven't just been sitting on my ass all afternoon.

I think golf is a waste of time and a waste of a sunny afternoon.

I also stink at it. I have never found anything, including divorce and a sexual harassment suit, more frustrating.

Time is the thing. A show like this pulls all your time away from you. Usually I'll get home from work on a Saturday about 10am (after doing night shooting) and I'll sleep until Saturday afternoon. Saturday night and Sunday I'm usually feeling wiped out and I've not seen Holly all week. It's a pretty full-on life, but what do you do? I love my work and there are sacrifices.

It was a very intense and stressful situation.

There was playing in the Johnny-pump (an opened fire hydrant) and the ice-cream man coming around and all of these games that we'd play, and suddenly it would turn just violent and there would be shootings at 12 in the afternoon on any given day.

I came home in the afternoon to sleep, and there was this e-mail from Comedy Central saying they were interested in having me be part of this new show called 'Jump Cuts'! So I called them right away, and the producer started laughing and said, 'We sent that e-mail one minute ago - you're so fast!'

It means a lot in my business and its a wonderful feeling to be recognized for what you have done over a lifetime, but I didn't go crazy. I still eat my cereal in the morning, have a sandwich in the afternoon, go to bed at night. You know, nothing really different.

I run in the morning, lift weights in the afternoon, basketball training at night, and then lift weights again at night.

Spend the afternoon. You can't take it with you.

Think what a better world it would be if we all, the whole world, had cookies and milk about three o'clock every afternoon and then lay down on our blankets for a nap.

Harvard was a kind of luxurious afternoon.

I never drink coffee at lunch. I find it keeps me awake for the afternoon.

It was a Sunday afternoon, wet and cheerless;

and a duller spectacle this earth of ours has not to show than a rainy Sunday in London.

The fifties - they seem to have taken place on a sunny afternoon that asked nothing of you except a drifting belief in the moment and its power to satisfy.

The real 1960s began on the afternoon of November 22, 1963.

It came to seem that Kennedy's murder opened some malign trap door in American culture, and the wild bats flapped out.

I never married because there was no need.

I have three pets at home which answer the same purpose as a husband. I have a dog which growls every morning, a parrot which swears all afternoon, and a cat that comes home late at night.

And in the afternoon they entered a land - but such a land! A land hung in mourning, darkened by gigantic cypresses, submerged; a land of reptiles, silence, shadow, decay.

Man, you don't know how I felt that afternoon when I heard that voice and it was my own voice.

Even if Scrabble had been invented then, I wouldn't have wanted to play Scrabble, because the highest triple word score in the world would not have expressed how much I liked the game Natalie and I played every afternoon.

I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.

It was that kind of a crazy afternoon, terrifically cold, and no sun out or anything, and you felt like you were disappearing every time you crossed a road.

There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams -- not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.

If you can spend a perfectly useless afternoon in a perfectly useless manner, you have learned how to live

Death is always on the way, but the fact that you don't know when it will arrive seems to take away from the finiteness of life. It's that terrible precision that we hate so much. But because we don't know, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens a certain number of times, and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that's so deeply a part of your being that you can't even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more. Perhaps not even. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless.