2 Tough and Crazy people get together and consider life through the Oracle of the Animated Gif. They contemplate SUNDAYS. The Wee Lass rang and talked a while. The Morning Meeting was quiet and calm until the American girl swept through in her savagery. The DOS replaced the light globe abd fixed the latch on the front door screen and she was reminded of Pottsville Beach days and made plans for Madeline’s 4th birthday present. HE is still in the FAR NORTH playing music and camping out. SHE is in singlet and baggy pants at Home. SUNDAY. SHABBOS.



Not only is there no God, but try finding a plumber on Sunday.
Alcuin (Albinus)



Millions long for immortality who do not know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.
Susan Ertz

Death is the mother of beauty.
–   Wallace Stevens, Sunday Morning, 1915



"Each leaf,
each blade of grass
vies for attention.
Even weeds
carry tiny blossoms
to astonish us."
-  Marianne Poloskey, Sunday in Spring

The true beloveds of this world are in their lover’s eyes  lilacs opening, ship lights, school bells, a landscape,  remembered conversations, friends, a child’s Sunday,  lost voices, one’s favorite suit, autumn and all seasons,  memory, yes, it being the earth and water of existence, memory. –   Truman Capote


On a hot listless Sunday afternoon
Of adolescence, on the parapet
Against the pillar, I look lazily
Across the park that’s faded less by summer,
It seems, than from the day’s inert aversion
To the principle of colour.

On Sundays on the Continent even the poorest person puts on his best suit, tries to look respectable, and at the same time the life of the country becomes gay and cheerful; in England even the richest peer or motor-manufacturer dresses in some peculiar rags, does not shave, and the country becomes dull and dreary. On the Continent there is one topic which should be avoided – the weather; in England, if you do not repeat the phrase “Lovely day, isn’t it?” at least two hundred times a day, you are considered a bit dull. On the Continent Sunday papers appear on Monday; in England – a country of exotic oddities – they appear on Sunday. On the Continent people use a fork as though a fork were a shovel; in England they turn it upside down and push everything – including peas – on top of it.




Sunday morning Saal in the quaint little Mt Buller chapel was serene and beautiful. The bell pealed out a joyful welcome in the crisp mountain air as we made our way into the church. Invitations for others to join our service had been posted in the Alpine Village well in advance, but no one else came to our little group. Natural rock walls in the chapel contrasted starkly with plush dark-red carpet and the upholstery of gold-framed chairs, but a large, back-lit cross high above the simple altar demanded immediate, attentive silence

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