#sundays

In winter I go skiing on Saturdays and Sundays when the slopes are quieter due to changeover day for tourists, and in summer I hike up into the mountains at sunset, just as the village is settling down to dinner. ↗

— Vanessa Mae

#day #dinner #down #due #go

I would go visit my mom on Sundays, and my brother was working on stuff. I'd go in there and sing a little melody, then we started working with words and the next thing you know it was just born organically without really trying. ↗

— Taryn Manning

#brother #go #i #just #know

On Sundays when I speak, I hopefully give somebody something that they can use the next day at work or at home. ↗

— Joel Osteen

#give #home #hopefully #i #next

I studied all about Gauguin. He was a banker. He was a banker who - he used to paint on Sundays. And one day he hated himself for painting on Sundays. ↗

— Anthony Quinn

#banker #day #hated #himself #i

I did grow up next door to Steve McQueen, who was a very famous movie star at the time, but as a kid it didn't impress me. We always had great fun with him. He would take us out on Sundays on his motorcycles, riding around in the desert; he was like a second father. ↗

— Herb Ritts

#around #desert #did #door #famous

When I'm in town on Sundays, I sometimes go down to the Central Bar in the East Village to watch English football. But my natural inclination now is to get in the car with my wife and kids and get out of town. ↗

— Joe Scarborough

#car #central #down #east #east village

I'm so depressed. Christmas is the worst of all. Holidays are terrible, worse than Sundays. I get melancholia. ↗

— David O. Selznick

#depressed #get #holidays #i #sundays

Saturdays and Sundays, America in the year 2009 does not in some ways differ significantly from the country that existed almost 50 years ago. This is truly sad. ↗

— Eric Holder

#almost #america #country #differ #does

I usually work out 4 hours a day during the week and 5 to 6 hours on Saturday, with Sundays off. ↗

— Shawn Johnson

#during #hours #i #off #out

Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he'd call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house, speaking indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know of love's austere and lonely offices? ↗

— Robert Hayden

#anger