Quotes About Bed

I'm usually woken up by the birds and by my schnauzer, Rafa - for me that's the best start to the day. I jump out of bed, throw on some clothes, and race to the polo ground.

I go to bed with as much makeup on as I can so I look cooler in my dreams.

If I have food in the house and I'm laying in bed, I go, 'I bet that Captain Crunch is lonely in the cupboard.'

Evil is unspectacular and always human, and shares our bed and eats at our own table.

Non-violence is a permanent attitude we bring to the breakfast table and bring to bed at night.

A friend of mine back in 1989 did an illegal rave in Vauxhall. He got Keith Haring to come along and tag the side of the wall. My friend cut it out of the wall and he kept it under his bed for 20 years. Then a few years ago he asks me if I want to buy it... so I spent £12,000 on a Keith Haring.

Pillow talk is the strongest conversation on the planet.

My talk show takes place in bed, in Italy.

I used to put on spray tan, like, three times a day, and it just looked like there was a terrible accident in my bed at all times... it looked like a crime scene.

Kasabian's head is still under the bed. I pull it out and set it on his chest, then grab his body by the ankles and drag him into the Cube. I straighten the arms and legs, set Kas's head back on its shoulders, and generally try to make him look more like a respectable human being and less like a big pile of loser jerky.

I sit on the end of the bed, trying to look as nonlethal as an extra from Night of the Living Dead can.

The books beside my bed are like the expensive, and suspiciously unsullied, pair of running shoes in the cupboard: an aspiration, and a symbol of the man I would like to be rather than the one I truly am.

He leaped, shrieking, off the bed, and sprang at me, clasping my throat with his horrid hands, bearing me backwards on to the floor; I felt his breath mingle with mine * * * and then God, in His mercy, sent oblivion.

O how he loves you, darling boy. Oh how, like always, he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around you in an act of faith against the night.

Sometimes, at night, in bed, before I fall asleep, I think about a poem I might write, someday, about my heart, says the heart.

I know you want me to say it . . . it's in the script, you want me to say Lie down on the bed, you're all I ever wanted and worth dying for, too . . .

Sometimes, at night, in bed, before I fall asleep, I think about a poem I might write, someday, about my heart, says the heart. — Richard Siken, from "The Language of the Birds," War of the Foxes (Copper Canyon Press, 2015)

My mouth would be open with glee and I would face the picture of Jesus hung there on the wall, my salvation coming instead through wood and rubber and ice and the dream of a game. I'd stand there, arms held high in triumph, and I would not feel lonely or afraid, deserted or abandoned, but connected to something far bigger than myself. Then I'd climb back into bed and sleep until the dawn woke me and I could walk back out to the rink again.

Did you know," he said slowly, "That Victor Dashkov is sitting on your bed?" "Yeah," I said. "It was kind of a shock to us too.

Sydney spent a lot of time on my bed these days. Unfortunately, it wasn't with me.

This wasn't the first time I'd been pulled out of bed for a crucial mission. It was, however, the first time I'd been subjected to such a personal line of questioning. "Are you a virgin?

Wow," said Adrian. He sat down on the bed and tested its bounciness, giving it a nod of approval. "This is amazing. What do you think, buttercup?" "I have no words," I said honestly. He patted the spot beside him. "Want to try it out?

Naptime," said Christian, leading her toward the bed. "I still need a shower." "Sleep first. Shower later." He pulled back the covers. "I'll sleep with you." "Sleep or sleep?" she asked dryly, sliding gratefully into bed. "Real sleep. You need it." He crawled in beside her, spooning against her and resting his face on her shoulder. "Of course, afterward, if you want to conduct any official Council business..." "I swear, if you say 'Little Dragomirs,' you can sleep in the hall.

I wrote: I never doubted. Would you believe I made a breakthrough with charms too? Her response came fast. Of course I believe it. When do you get back? Early evening. Can you come over? I'll try. We need to celebrate. Should I get champagne and cake ready? Get your bed ready. Wear the black bra. I didn't plan on wearing one. "God help me," I murmured, earning a surprised glance from Neil.