Lazy Weekend Quotes

I want everything with you, America. I want the holidays and the birthdays, the busy season and lazy weekends. I want peanut butter fingertips on my desk. I want inside jokes and fights and everything. I want a life with you.

I really hope so. Partly because, yes, we're duty bound to produce heirs. But also... I want everything with you, America. I want the holidays and the birthdays, the busy seasons and lazy weekends. I want peanut butter finger-prints on my desk. I want inside jokes and fights and everything. I want a life with you." - Maxon Schreave

It‘s a curious fact, because Friday is a day of work and Sunday is a day for pleasure, so you would expect people to enjoy Sunday more, right? But we don’t. It’s not because we really like being in the office and can’t stand strolling in the park and having a lazy brunch. We prefer Friday to Sunday because Friday brings with it the thrill of anticipating the weekend ahead. In contrast, on Sunday the only thing to look forward to is work on Monday.

God is not merely at your fingertips but within your grasp. Live each day like a child digging through a treasure chest, rifling for the next discovery. Open your arms and your eyes to the God who stands in plain sight and works miracles in your midst. Look for him in your workdays and weekends, in your meeting-filled Mondays and your lazy Saturdays. Search for him in the snowy sunsets and Sabbaths, seasons of Lent and sitting at your table. Pray for—and expect—wonder. For when you search for God, you will discover him.

It’s tempting to believe fairy tales and imagine recovery is this meteoric rise from darkness, but I think it must be stated for the sake of honesty, integrity and solidarity with others going through it, that recovery doesn’t feel at all like strength. It feels like giving up, like failing. It feels like lying in a useless lump all weekend, crying about the weight you gained. It feels like the deep shame you carry around all day because you actually can’t stop yourself eating anymore. It feels like the maddening conflict of being hungry and healthy. You gaze back at your skinny pictures wondering what happened – was that really you? It was seemingly moments ago, but now you are asking yourself what happened to the girl who would have given her life to be thin. It feels like you’re being weak and lazy and surrendering to your own worthlessness. It actually, on many days, feels like you’ve lost a battle.

Weekends I was only awake for a few hours a day. And when I was awake, I wasn’t fully so, but in a kind of murk, a dim state between the real and the dream. I got sloppy and lazy at work, grayer, emptier, less there. This pleased me, but having to do things became very problematic. When people spoke, I had to repeat what they’d said in my mind before understanding it. I told Dr. Tuttle I was having trouble concentrating. She said it was probably due to “brain mist.

A-Actually, the flower that sprang up would have been the iris or larkspur, not the modern hyacinth, but that is how it earned its name.” “Fascinating.” His unfathomable eyes locked onto hers. Elizabeth knew he was referring to her and not the history of the hyacinth, and though she commanded herself to move out of his reach, her legs refused to budge. “Absolutely fascinating,” he murmured again, and in slow motion she watched his hands reach out and gently grasp her shoulders, rubbing lightly. “Last night you were ready to do battle with a roomful of men because they dared believe I’d cheated, yet now you’re afraid. Is it me you fear, sweetheart? Or something else?” The endearment spoken in his rich baritone voice had the same stirring effect on her as the touch of his lips. “I’m afraid of the things you make me feel,” she admitted desperately, trying to get control of herself and the situation. “I realize that this is merely a-a little weekend dalliance-“ “Liar,” he teased, and he took her lips in a sweet, swift kiss. Her mind reeled from the brief touch, but the moment he lifted his mouth from hers she rushed into frightened speech. “Thank you,” she blurted inanely. “H-Hyacinths are not the only flower with an interesting history. There are lilies, too, which are also part of the genus-“ A lazy, seductive grin swept across his handsome face, and, to Elizabeth’s helpless horror, her gaze fastened on his mouth. She couldn’t still the shiver of anticipation as he bent his head.

Once I’d started seeing Dr. Tuttle, I was getting in fourteen, fifteen hours of sleep a night during the workweek, plus that extra hour at lunchtime. Weekends I was only awake for a few hours a day. And when I was awake, I wasn’t fully so, but in a kind of murk, a dim state between the real and the dream. I got sloppy and lazy at work, grayer, emptier, less there. This pleased me, but having to do things became very problematic. When people spoke, I had to repeat what they’d said in my mind before understanding it. I told Dr. Tuttle I was having trouble concentrating. She said it was probably due to “brain mist.” “Are you sleeping enough?” Dr. Tuttle asked every week I went to see her. “Just barely,” I always answered. “Those pills hardly put a dent in my anxiety.

I’ve always hated dating,” I said instead. “In fact, if I could bypass all that might I bestow upon you a kiss business, I would. Why can’t we all just skip to the comfortable part of relationships? Go straight to the bit where you can walk around in your undies, let farts go and blame them on the dog, and leave the door open when you’re taking a piss?” “First of all, there is no part of a relationship that should involve that last bit, and second of all, dating is the best part. All those butterflies and excitement, the sexual tension. Wanting to skip to the comfortable bit is laziness. It means you don’t have to put in any effort to woo someone. Also, if memory serves, you’ve never had a relationship that lasted more than six months.” “Thanks for the reminder, oh Sarah of Ye Old Wet Blanket,” I groused, but she was right. I hadn’t dated anyone for longer than six months; and even then it hadn’t really been a relationship with any meaningful or lasting impact. “Ye Old Wet Blanket was my grandmother’s name, I’ll have you know...You’re thirty years old, practically a baby. You’ve just burned yourself out. You need to find the excitement in life again, the thrill to be had from simple things.” “I do get a thrill from simple things,” I countered. “Didn’t I mention I fixed my tap this weekend? And I had Earl Grey tea with breakfast.” “Oh. Stop. Too much excitement. I can’t handle it.

Spinach Quiche Preheat oven to 375 degrees F., rack in the middle position   This is my recipe. It can be served as an appetizer if you cut it into thin slices and arrange them on a platter. It can also be served as an entrée.   One 9-inch unbaked pastry shell 1 beaten egg yolk (reserve the white in a small dish) 10-ounce package frozen chopped spinach ½ teaspoon salt ½ teaspoon pepper (freshly ground is best) 3 Tablespoons horseradish sauce 2 ounces shredded Jarlsberg (or good Swiss cheese) 4 eggs 1½ cups Half & Half (or light cream) 1/8 teaspoon salt 1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper 1/8 teaspoon nutmeg (freshly ground is best)   Beat the egg yolk in a glass with a fork. Brush the inside of the unbaked pastry shell with the yolk. Set the shell aside to dry. Cook and drain the spinach. Squeeze out as much moisture as you can and then blot with a paper towel. In a bowl, combine the spinach with the salt, pepper, and horseradish sauce. Spread it in the bottom of the pastry shell. Sprinkle the top with the grated cheese. Beat the 4 whole eggs with the reserved egg white. Add the Half & Half, salt, and cayenne pepper. Mix well and pour on top of cheese. Sprinkle the top with nutmeg. Bake at 375 degrees F. for 40 minutes, or until a knife inserted one inch from the center comes out clean. Let cool for ten minutes and then cut into wedges and serve. This quiche can be served warm or at room temperature. I’ve even been known to eat it cold, straight out of the refrigerator. It’s perfect for a fancy brunch or a lazy, relaxed breakfast on the weekend. Yield: Serves from 12 to 18 as an appetizer. Serves six as an entrée if they only have one piece.

Claire loved early evening in the hotel the best. Between five and six, when the sun slanted in through the windows, it had a sort of sleepiness combined with a sense of expectation. As the kitchen launched into preparation and the barman filled his ice bucket and laid out bowls of olives, guests retired to their rooms, relaxing on their beds for a quick power nap, or watching the news, or putting on make-up over sun-kissed skin, or making lazy holiday love.

feel ease or resistance toward rest has a lot to do with how it was modeled for us when we were growing up. If, as a kid, your weekends were spent relaxing on the couch, for example, you might have an easier time leaning into rest as an adult; if they were all go-go-go, on the other hand, you might well feel like you’re being lazy if you don’t keep up that intensity.

Primer of Love [Lesson 41] The essence of pleasure is spontaneity. ~ Germaine Greer Lesson 41) Play it mostly by ear mostly, but when time is at a premium, plan a bit. Life is not a busy appointment page on your smartphone, you anal retentive fucktard. Life is all about improvisation. The fickle mood for a sour pickle and a box of Entenmanns's mixed donuts, the sudden urge to watch the entire 5 seasons of Breaking Bad together on a lazy Sunday afternoon, or the instant decision to stay home and prepare a four cheese lasagna instead of going out to a nice Italian restaurant. These are the priceless events than even MasterCard cannot challenge. But if you only have a four day weekend, you two have to be grounded in reality. Don't just climb in the car and drive. Pick a fucking direction. Thank God for GPS.

But that’s what our society’s built on. Most people strive for this kind of life.” “Safety is very nice, but isn’t it also incredibly boring? How much do you miss out on because you’re following a known path? Shouldn’t life be a challenge? Shouldn’t we try to discover, to experiment as much as possible? Instead, we spend our days doing monotonous work and then at the end ask where all the time went. Sure, you have weekends and holidays to recover from work, but you’re often so exhausted you don’t have the energy to go explore.” “But there are also people who feel comfortable in their job.” “You mean the lucky few who were able to turn their passion into a profession? I don’t hate my job. And I know I should be grateful to even have a job, especially in these difficult economic times, and so on, and so on. But ultimately we just spend way too much time at work. And when you think about it, most of it’s just repetition and serves only to profit the company. You can slave away for years working for a company, and if you’re lucky, you’ll get recognized for it. But once you can no longer do what they ask, they get rid of you! It happened to my aunt. She was at the same company for forty years, was committed to the company, and never complained when she put in overtime. Then came new management, and she was laid off. Since then, she’s been taking pills made by Lagussa . . .” “But I think many people want security and structure in their lives. Look around: we all work, day after day. That’s how our system functions. If people were so unhappy with this situation, our free society would have undergone radical change a long time ago.” “Free society? You’re free only if you obey the rules—that’s not true freedom. The minute you want to follow a different path, you’re faced with limitations. A lot of people are afraid of that. We’re also distracted enough to never even consider if we’re happy or not. I only recently read that last year Germans watched an average of almost four hours of TV a day. On average! That doesn’t leave much time for reflection. Most go to work, where they have used their mind or body for the benefit of a company, and then they come home. Before they go to bed, they veg on the couch and watch lame TV shows that promise glamour and adventure—which very few people will ever experience. The shows are sold as reality. Then there are religions and substitute religions, and every now and then publicly organized mass drunkenness like Oktoberfest, all of which makes people lazy and content.” “So if it’s a big conspiracy, then who’s behind it? I don’t think business leaders meet regularly in Frankenstein’s castle to discuss how to keep people subdued.” “I

I want the holidays and the birthdays, the busy seasons and lazy weekends. I want peanut butter fingerprints on my desk. I want inside jokes and fights and everything. I want a life with you.

You'd better come back to Bath with me. It can be right spooky here at night when the moon is out, much less in a snarling storm." "Have you spent the night on Plum Point before?" Brian asked, suspiciously. "Sure, some college buddies of mine came down one weekend and we brought our sleeping bags out here. One of them told us a lot of good pirate stories. I'm afraid we were lazy and didn't even look for treasure. I do enough digging all day as it is." Visions of gravediggers ran through Michele's mind. "Dig?" she repeated. "Yes. My name is Ray Whitley. I'm an archaeologist. I've seen you kids around town when I was coming back in after a digging expedition. That'll make you dirty and tired, especially lugging all my tools around half the night." "In a brown bag?" asked Michele. "Yes," he answered, looking at her as though he were very puzzled at the question. "Why did you come to Plum Point tonight?" Michele asked, still suspicious. "The man I rent a room from wasn't feeling well. I offered to check his crab pots," he said, nodding toward his boat which was floundering in the tumbling waves.

Then I asked, “Are you coming to the party tomorrow?” because it was, at the moment, the only change of subject I could come up with. “Daniel’s party?” Rafe looked confused, as if he couldn’t imagine why I’d think he was going to the party of a guy who obviously didn’t like him. “Well, it’s at Daniel’s place, but it’s really--” “Your birthday party. I know.” He kept giving me that look, and I didn’t blame him--I was as unlikely to invite him as Daniel was. “Everyone goes,” I said. “The whole class.” “Yeah, I know. Hayley asked if I was going, but I kind of figured that didn’t exactly count as an invitation. Unless I went with her, which I’d really rather not.” I had to laugh at his expression. “Don’t blame you. But you can now consider yourself officially invited by the birthday girl. It’s an easier way to meet people than hanging out at the smoking pit. Healthier, too.” That got a smile from him. Not that lazy grin I’d seen so often, but something as different from his usual self as that ice-cold anger I’d seen him show to Sam and, later, to me. A crooked smile. Hesitant. Not quite shy, but close enough to do more to my insides than that sexy one he tossed around so casually. When I felt that, I felt a faint pang of panic, too--something in my gut that said falling for Rafe Martinez was a bad idea. When he said, “I’ll see,” in a tone that said he wasn’t likely to show up, I was relieved. “It depends on Annie,” he said. “It’s Saturday, so she’ll expect me to stick around.” “Understandable,” I said. “Have a good weekend, then, and I’ll see you Monday.” I hurried off before he could reply.

All too often, an average evening at home would consist of little more than sitting on the couch, phone in hand, letting my attention lazily ping-pong between Facebook and Instagram and YouTube and whatever happened to be on TV. Hours were spent like this. Days were spent like this. Weekends were lost to this behavior. Sure, there would be evenings spent cooking dinner with friends, Sunday afternoons doing laundry or other house chores that demanded some energy and time. But so many tasks felt like they required a Herculean effort to break free from the malaise of modern life. Maybe I was just incredibly lazy or mildly depressed or who knows. Whatever it was, it was just too damn easy to live like that. Worse was seeing so many others living the exact same way, making it almost impossible to justify the feeling that something about it was wrong.