On Saturday afternoons when all the things are done in the house and there’s no real work to be done, I play Bach and Chopin and turn it up real loudly and get a good bottle of chardonnay and sit out on my deck and look out at the garden.
To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring – it was peace.
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.
I write longhand; I make changes longhand, and I have an assistant who types it up. She lives 70 yards away. Every afternoon, I have a case I leave out on the porch, and she brings it back the next morning.
Malacca is such a rest after the crowds of Japan and the noisy hurry of China! Its endless afternoon remains unbroken except by the dreamy, colored, slow-moving Malay life which passes below the hill. There is never any hurry or noise.
I do 20 minutes of transcendental meditation every morning, and I try to do it in the afternoon, too.
I haven’t any formal schedule, but I love to write in the morning, before breakfast. Sometimes the writing goes so smoothly that I don’t take a break for many hours – and consequently have breakfast at two or three in the afternoon on good days.
There are a lot more TV sets in use on Monday night than on Sunday afternoon.
I’m an afternoon tea type of girl. I come from a Russian background where we love our teas. So between lunch and dinner after training I come home and I love a nice cup of tea with jam in it, as we drink it there. Black English Breakfast with raspberry jam is my favorite.
The day I entered St Columb’s College, my parents bought me a Conway Stewart pen. It was a special afternoon, of course. We were going to be parting that evening; they were aware of it, I was aware of it, nothing much was said about it.
‘My Night at Maud’s,’ ‘Claire’s Knee,’ ‘Chloe in the Afternoon’ are grafted onto my life.
I’m up around 11am to my alarm. Without it I’d sleep into the afternoon.
What’ll we do with ourselves this afternoon? And the day after that, and the next thirty years?
Look, science is hard, it has a reputation of being hard, and the facts are, it is hard, and that’s the result of 400 years of science, right? I mean, in the 18th century, in the 18th century you could become an expert on any field of science in an afternoon by going to a library, if you could find the library, right?
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.
I have kids. I can’t hardly watch an afternoon football game with them without having to turn off the TV during the commercials. It’s too much. I don’t know when violence was deemed such a cinematic thing.
For some reason, on that sparkling afternoon last week, I actually saw the coal that was passing by and it set me to thinking how important coal was to our everyday lives when I was a little boy.
I ended up landing in London out of high school, and I saw a performance that Vanessa Redgrave gave, just because it was a cheap ticket, and I didn’t know what to do with my afternoon, and I went in, and I saw this Eugene O’Neill play, and I sat in the fifth row, and I watched her.
I found out about reviews early on. They’re mostly written by sad men on bad afternoons. That’s probably why I’m less angry than some writers, who are so narcissistic they consider every line of every review, even a thoughtful one, as major treason.
The problem with writing a book in verse is, to be successful, it has to sound like you knocked it off on a rainy Friday afternoon. It has to sound easy. When you can do it, it helps tremendously because it’s a thing that forces kids to read on. You have this unconsummated feeling if you stop.
My mother was in labour for two full days before having me on a sunny August afternoon. She went into labour on the 7th, and I chose to make my big entrance on the 9th.
I have spent much of my life where the boys are, first as a tomboy and then on Wall Street. Growing up, I loved every and any sport. I was frustrated by girls who didn’t, so I spent most of my afternoons with the boys.
I live in Sheffield. I got the train in this morning. I had a walk yesterday afternoon and went to the pub in the evening. My family is very important to me.
I miss seeing real comics, Shecky Greene and Buddy Hackett, those types. I like straight stand-up, talking about the Olympics and why I feel obligated to watch them. ‘Why am I watching archery at 4 in the afternoon?’
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.
I have been a total brat since my childhood. Because of me, my mother’s day was over by afternoon as just managing me, she was exhausted.
Life is different than it was in the Nineties. I’m a dad, and there are other things I have to get done in an afternoon than just being an artist.
When I still lived in Manhattan, people-watching was my hobby, and I spent many Sunday afternoons eating up the scene from a window seat at a Starbucks on Broadway.
I had one of the best days of my life. I spent the afternoon with my two kids and my ex-wife at Serendipity. Then I came to the theater, and you know, I think I did the play the best I’ve ever done it.
I like watching old stuff. I like old Al Pacino movies. ‘Serpico.’ ‘Dog Day Afternoon.’
I’d be lying if I claimed that, in spite of our amiable afternoons, I don’t have an ache somewhere in my heart that my children will not be playing Carnegie Hall anytime soon.
I believe there should be breakfast, lunch and afternoon snack, all for free and for every child that goes to school. And all food that is good, clean and fair.
I like the good life too much, I’m not good at going on stage night after night and on wet Wednesday afternoons.
There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.
I write in the morning, I walk in the afternoon and I read in the evening. It’s a very easy, lovely life.
I’d dropped out of high school without really doing it on purpose – I’d just go home at lunch ‘cos I didn’t have friends, then stay there all afternoon listening to rap. It got to the point where I wouldn’t have passed even if I’d gone back. I was depressed, basically.
For most Americans, Friday afternoons are filled with positive anticipation of the weekend. In Washington, it’s where government officials dump stories they want to bury. Good news gets dropped on Monday so bureaucrats can talk about it all week.
Millions long for immortality who don’t know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.
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.
Every now and then, they ask me to come in and improvise with Stanley Tucci for an afternoon. They fly me off to America, I improvise for an afternoon – it’s not the hardest, most taxing job.
People want sport that they can go on an afternoon and watch with their kids.
Some weeks, I’m super-duper busy, so I can only fit cardio in here and there, a lot of stuff happens in the afternoon, so I can get up and have a workout, which makes me feel awesome for the rest of my day. There’s just something sexy about feeling strong. And every night I’m onstage, I get another workout.
Top Of The Pops’ was the show to be on. Youd go in in the afternoon, re-record the track for them, and then youd mime to the track that you cut that afternoon.
As an exercise, I devoted an afternoon to writing my memories of childhood. I remembered our family’s arrival at a single-wide trailer on an Ozark meadow and my mother’s shock at learning that this would be our new home.
Everybody takes breaks, and I decided to take mine. I wanted a chance to wake up at two in the afternoon and not be a subject of entertainment. I wanted to be a human being. At certain times and certain years, I felt like the Energizer bunny. That gets old very quickly.
We took our Catholicism very seriously. We never missed Mass; our father was a lector, and both our parents taught catechism. At 3 in the afternoon on Good Friday, we gathered in the living room for 10 minutes of silence in front of a painting of the Crucifixion.
I love the perspective afforded by having lived five decades, a degree of bemused and muted calm, a relief from the insistent demands of a turbulent ego and rampant ambition. I’d love to stay here forever. But something tells me that 50 is a sunny idyll, a temporary state of grace, a golden afternoon.
I might wake up in the morning and go out for a six- to eight-mile run, and then in the afternoon, I might swim two or three kilometres. The next day, I’ll mix it up and do a military circuit. I don’t stick to a set programme.
I spend a lot of my time packing. It’s a routine, and I know what I need, but I still like to make a list beforehand and usually pack in the afternoon, as I prefer to rest the evening before travelling.
Sunday afternoon is for papers and writing.
I work every morning, all morning, sometimes in the afternoons. Then sometimes I hunt in the afternoons – quail, doves, grouse up north – but just to stay alive, because writers die from their lifestyle but also from their lack of movement.
