Sunday Blues Quotes

If Sunday is the Lord's day, then Saturday belongs to the Devil. It is the only night of the week when he gives out Free passes to the Late show at the Too Much Fun Club.

In the end, it was the Sunday afternoons he couldn't cope with, and that terrible listlessness that starts to set in about 2:55, when you know you've taken all the baths that you can usefully take that day, that however hard you stare at any given paragraph in the newspaper 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.

But it's Sunday, Mr. Bell. Clocks are slow on Sundays.

I hate Sunday, and I don't think I'll ever get over it. But I'm going to try.

Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week.

The feeling of Sunday is the same everywhere, heavy, melancholy, standing still.

This afternoon held that special quality of mournful emptiness I've connected with late Sunday afternoons ever since childhood: the feeling of having nothing to do.

On Sundays, I lay low, sulk a lot, and try to get my head together for next week.

Someone has somewhere commented on the fact that millions long for immortality who don't know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

Not only is there no God, but try finding a plumber on Sunday.

Life is not that simple. That is why it is called life. That word includes both lie and if. Time to figure out which side of the "half" fence you are on: Does your life include a lie or just one big if? There is nothing wrong with either to be honest, but it will make your Sundays longer.

You know you're doing what you love when Sunday nights feel the same as Friday nights.

I'm a loser on Sunday. Yeah, I'm a couch potato. I get up and try and eat and then back on the couch. And watch anything.

I hated Sundays when I was growing up in Streatham, south London. Everything closed down and stopped.

On Sunday morning I went out for a while in the neighbourhood; I bought some raisin bread. The day was warm but a little sad, as Sundays often are in Paris, especially when one doesn't believe in God.

Sunday is the day people go quietly mad, one way or another.

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

And on seesaw Sunday nights, I'd woo who ever I would with my wicked eye!

Wherever I am in the world, I never get Sunday night blues. I suppose it's because I've never worked at any one thing long enough to start hating it.

After my parents' divorce when I was 4, I spent weekends with my dad before we finally moved to California. By the time Sunday rolled around, I was incapable of enjoying the day's activities, of being in the moment, because I was already dreading the inevitable goodbye of Sunday evening.

I really enjoy spending Sunday evenings with friends, because Sunday evenings are always frightening. You are obsessed by the fact that you are working again the next day. And sometimes you get the blues. I always decide to spend it with friends. It's very nice.

I hate Sunday, I can't wait for Monday so I can go back to work again.

Sometimes there's nothing but Sundays for weeks on end. Why can't they move Sunday to the middle of the week so you could put it in the OUT tray on your desk?

How Sunday into Monday melts!