“Back then, he'd have to leave at the end of August for the start of school, so the week before Labor Day became it's own tiny season of gloom, like a hundred Sunday nights crowded together.”

“Weekends smoosh together, like one big meshed day of non-schooling. It should be called something like Sunturday. [...] I'm always thinking Saturday is Sunday and Sunday is Saturday so if it's Sunturday, I could never be wrong.--Sofia”

“By ten o'clock, the Sunday-night blues set in. The bleak wasteland of an entire week of stupefyingly boring school stretched ahead of me like an endless desert highway.”

“Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week.”

“It’s like the end of the day where you feel nothing has been achieved and you’re in a hurry to get the day over with so you can start the next one. You tell yourself you’re going to do lots of positive things. But the next day is just like the one before. Sometimes it goes on for weeks.”

“When you think about it, the Big Bang's a big like school, isn't it?...Well, I mean to say, one day we'll all leave here and become scientists and bank clerks and driving instructors and hotel managers -- the fabric of society, so to speak. But in the meantime, that fabric, that is to say, us, the future, is crowded into one tiny little point where none of the laws of society applies, viz., this school.-Ruprecht”