The service took place on one of those afternoons that occur only in the past.
I think that most people, and by people I mean journalists, think that I pre-conceive everything and that I spend my afternoons dreaming up self-mythologizing points of interest.
. . . and so many orchards circled the village that on some crisp October afternoons the whole wold smelled like pie.
As footballers, we have time on our hands. Yes, we work very hard but we also have spare afternoons.
Coffee in the morning, cocaine afternoons.
My first job was when I was about 12, cleaning houses in the afternoons for different elderly women in town. I hated it.
Day after day, I spent long afternoons in the talent pool, being told how to walk, how to talk, how to sit.
I try to devote my afternoons to making music in my home studio, but it's a lot more fun hanging out with musicians and friends, and trying subtly to influence a band than making your own stuff.
When I was 17, I worked at a bagel shop - I ate so many! I was also in all the school musicals, which we rehearsed for during the afternoons.
In the end, it was the Sunday afternoons he couldn't cope with, and that terrible listlessness which starts to set in at about 2:55, when you know that you've had all the baths you can usefully have that day, that however hard you stare at any given paragraph in the papers you will never actually read it, or use the revolutionary new pruning technique it describes, and that as you stare at the clock the hands will move relentlessly on to four o'clock, and you will enter the long dark teatime of the soul.
The majority of people perform well in a crisis and when the spotlight is on them; it's on the Sunday afternoons of this life, when nobody is looking, that the spirit falters.
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.
Mornings belong to whatever is new; the current composition. Afternoons are for naps and letters.
I've always known that the quality of love was the mind, even though the body sometimes refuses this knowledge. The body lives for itself. It lives only to feed and wait for the night. It's essentially nocturnal. But what of the mind which is born of the sun, William, and must spend thousands of hours of a lifetime awake and aware? Can you balance off the body, that pitiful, selfish thing of night against a whole lifetime of sun and intellect? I don't know. I only know there has been your mind here and my mind here, and the afternoons have been like none I can remember.
. . . for the first time in my life, writing was hard. The problem was the teaching. . . by most Friday afternoons I felt as if I'd spent the week with jumper cables clamped to my brain.
But I remember more dearly autumn afternoons in bottoms that lay intensely silent under old great trees
I come from a very sporty background because my mom is a gymnastics teacher. So growing up I was never sitting watching TV in the afternoons. I always played ball outside in the backyard.
Practical! On Wednesday afternoons I could be practically anything. What's up?
Sunday afternoons at a parish center - or a community center - is familiar territory for me.
Walking the streets of Charleston in the late afternoons of August was like walking through gauze or inhaling damaged silk.
