Quotes About Vacation

During the summers the building was empty," she reminisced. "Everybody went away, to Long Island, or Westchester, or the Adirondacks, or the Jersey Shore. If you went to Long Island, the husbands didn't stay behind. The whole city would be empty in the summers. Now if people go away, it's just a weekend. Goodness me, what kind of a summer is that?

Babies don't need a vacation but I still see them at the beach. I'll go over to them and say, 'What are you doing here, you've never worked a day in your life!'.

When poor people are constantly worrying about money, they neglect other areas of their lives. Scarcity of money affects scarcity of time, which in turn affects scarcity of mental bandwidth. All of these things feed on themselves, leading to worse and worse decision making. And although most of us might take a break when life feels overwhelming, the poor cannot. "Poor people can't say, 'I'll take a vacation from being poor,'" Mullainathan explains.

Chasing kids on the beach and sleeping is the closest I come to exercising while in Hawaii.

Once while vacationing at my grandparent's house in Rajasthan, we were sleeping on the roof and I spotted an object hovering around in the sky - kind of a UFO. It totally spooked me out. I couldn't sleep for days after that.

I spent 10 days on the beach and slept pretty much all day, every day. It was the perfect place to have a rest.

I love the snow! I actually cannot stand the beach.

I love to go to Ireland just to relax.

I want to pay my mortgage and go on vacation, so I love working. I want to be able to do independent projects as well, and being on a successful TV show allows you to do some other things.

The Patty Winters Shows were all repeats. Life remained a blank canvas, a cliche, a soap opera. I felt lethal, on the verge of frenzy. My nightly bloodlust overflowed into my days and I had to leave the city. My mask of sanity was a victim of impending slippage. This was bone season for me and I needed a vacation. I needed to go to the Hamptons.

Leaving sex to the feminists is like letting your dog vacation at the taxidermist's.

Here, inmates would spend seven days and six nights being drilled on vacation etiquette. For example, they'd be taught how to read speed-limit signs; how to park within the parallel lines of a parking space; how to drink and dispose of alcohol; how to vomit inconspicuously; how to steer a Jet Ski and chew gum at the same time.… The drill instructors would be selected from an elite pool of former Highway Patrol troopers, ex–Navy SEALs, and retired tour guides from Epcot.

I want to go to Australia and take the same goofy picture of me holding a koala that everyone else takes.

I was in Cancun, Mexico, sitting in a disappearing-edge swimming pool, on a bar stool that was actually under the water, watching palm trees sway in a sultry breeze against the unmistakable aqua splendor of the Caribbean Sea; drinking coconut, lime, and tequila from a scooped-out pineapple, with salt spray of breaking surf and sun kissing my skin. Translation: I'd died and gone to heaven.

The heron is painted a somber Madonna blue, my only criticism of it. Turquoise would have been my choice, I tell him. "Turquoise is what that blue would look like if she divorced the night and went on a fabulous vacation.

No vacation goes unpunished.

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What's better than work?" He paused. "What's worse than work?

Spring break! Were there any two words ever put together that make a more beautiful sound?

Take time off. Block out long weekends and long vacations, then take them. You'll be more rested, more relaxed, and more productive afterward. Everything needs rest to function better, and you're no different.

Your mind is on vacation and your mouth is working overtime.

We'll never know. In the summer of 1971, against the advice of his mother, Howard Myers took a vacation to Florida. The combination of the heat and his medical condition combined to give him a massive heart attack which killed him. He was forty-one years old. There

Just the other day the AP wire had a story about a man from Arkansas who entered some kind of contest and won a two-week vacation--all expenses paid--wherever he wanted to go. Any place in the world: Mongolia, Easter Island, the Turkish Riviera . . . but his choice was Salt Lake City, and that's where he went. Is this man a registered voter? Has he come to grips with the issues? Has he bathed in the blood of the lamb?

All around us were people I had spent ten years avoiding--shapeless women in wool bathing suits, dull-eyed men with hairless legs and self-conscious laughs, all Americans, all fearsomely alike. These people should be kept at home, I thought; lock them in the basement of some goddamn Elks Club and keep them pacified with erotic movies; if they want a vacation, show them a foreign art film; and if they still aren't satisfied, send them into the wilderness and run them with vicious dogs.