Weird Al: Hi. My name is Allen, and I'll be your waiter this afternoon. Enid: Hi, Al. Rebecca: Can we call you 'Weird Al'? Weird Al: I'd imagine so.
[Indy meets Belloq in a crowded bar] Indiana: Belloq. Belloq: Good afternoon, Doctor Jones. Indiana: I oughta kill you right now. Belloq: Not a very private place for a murder.
It sounds so nerdy and pathetic, but what I always do on Sunday afternoon is bring my inbox down to zero, which is so sad. But e-mail has become like homework for adults. I'll have 141 messages from people who will be offended if I don't write back.
Declining to go to church with my parents in the morning, I would ostentatiously set out for the Monist Society in the afternoon, down an obscure street which it seemed a little improper to be walking on, as everything was closed for Sunday, upstairs...
Patrick Bateman: Jean, I'm not going to make it... I'm not going to... make it... to the office this afternoon. Jean: [alarmed] What is it, Patrick? Are you all right? Patrick Bateman: Stop sounding so fucking... sad! *Jesus*!
Lt. General Horrocks: Do you think you'll be able to pull it off, Joe? Lt. Colonel J.O.E. Vandeleur: I have nothing else planned for this afternoon.
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.
One afternoon, when I was four years old, my father came home, and he found me in the living room in front of a roaring fire, which made him very angry. Because we didn't have a fireplace.
...I remember a rainy, depressing afternoon when she remarked 'What a pity we can't make love, there's nothing else to do,' and he agreed that it was and there wasn't.
But as I listened to my various mentors argue away the afternoon, I finally caught on to the basic point of it all. With chocolate, there are no straight answers. There are only strongly held opinions.
Find what gave you emotion; what the action was that gave you excitement. Then write it down making it clear so that the reader can see it too. Prose is architecture, not interior decoration, and the Baroque is over.
Let those who want to save the world if you can get to see it clear and as a whole. Then any part you make will represent the whole if it's made truly. The thing to do is work and learn to make it.
Did you ever look back at some moment in your past and have it suddenly grow so vivid that all the intervening years seemed brief, dreamlike, impersonal—the motions of a May afternoon surrendered to routine?
This next nugget of salesmanship cannot be perfected in a single afternoon. However, once you have it mastered, your competition will continuously believe you possess some mystical customer attracting formula
The town is mobbed out with Saturday shoppers looking for Christmas bargains. You can almost breathe in the raw greed which hangs in the air like vapour. As the late afternoon darkness falls, the lights look tacky and sinister.
Meanwhile, let us have a sip of tea. The afternoon glow is brightening the bamboos, the fountains are bubbling with delight, the soughing of the pines is heard in our kettle. Let us dream of evanescence and linger in the beautiful foolishness of thin...
Even without being believed, magic can change things. It moves invisibly through the air, dissolving the usual ways of seeing, allowing new ways to creep in, secretly, quietly, like a stray cat sliding thought the bushes.
Well, good afternoon, sunshine. How are you feeling?" "Like something the cat dragged in, then dragged back outside to leave in the rain, and mud, then the lightning hit it, and burned it, and the cat came back to tear it into pieces, before burying ...
It's Thursday afternoon, and we have sports. These are the choices for the girls: watching an invitational cricket game; studying in one of the classrooms; or watching the senior rugby league. As you can imagine, I'm torn.
The security officer smiled and said, ‘Good afternoon, ma’am,’ to me before I gave him ID.” “It’s a sick world, Eve.” He resisted taking her hand for another squeeze. “A sick, sad world.
She felt tears slip from beneath her lashes, no matter how she tried to blink them back. Her heart was ablaze. It seemed that her entire life had led to this man, this moment of unexpressed love.
