Quotes About Bed

There are two things that I hate: getting up at 6 in the morning and making my bed. I'm as neat as a pin, but I will not make beds. Period. I don't care if I get into them and they're messy. I just don't care.

I would bend over backward to be back on Grey's. Any day, I'll choose lying in bed with Katherine Heigl looking over me over getting thrown against walls by supernatural persons at 5 in the morning.

I've always envied Thomas Jefferson's bed at Monticello. It's in a tiny alcove, bound by walls at the head and foot.

If you want to have a good sleep, you have to have a good mattress.

I don't really have much of a skin care routine. I take a shower every day, but I don't wash my face before I go to bed or anything. I'll try every once in a while to put some moisturizer on my face. In fact, I would probably have better skin if I was religious about it, but I'm not.

I like to be in my pajamas all day. Sometimes I don't wash for days because I like to read and sit around. I like to eat in bed.

Since I'm on a tour bus, sometimes it's really hard for me to wash my face, so I always make sure I have those Neutrogena Make-up Remover Cleansing Towelettes. No matter what and no matter how long the days are, I always have to wash with those before bed and when I wake up.

I don't wash my hair really too much, and I just roll out of bed and try to push it out of my eyes.

Spend sunny afternoons writing. Take weekends in the country. Dream. Drink good wine, eat fabulous cheese and great bread. Make the kind of love that destroys the bed.

But presently, huddled beneath the blankets, the child would be soothed by a warm sense of safety, and her nerves would relax, while her body grew limp with the drowsy softness of bed. Then suddently a big and most comforting yawn, and another, and another, until darkness and Collins and tall clocks that menaced, and Stephen herself, were all blended and merged into something quite friendly, a harmonious whole, neither fearful or doubting-the blessed illusion we call sleep.

Every instinct inside her cried out for her to rush back down the street, race up the three flights to her apartment, climb into her bed and yank the covers over her head.

Olivia shoved her hands into her pockets against the damp Seattle afternoon. Nothing would take the chill from her bones, though. She knew that. Even five days of sick leave, huddling in her bed and mindlessly bingeing on cooking shows hadn't done anything but make her crave cake.

After the debacle of the party, debugging the code running in his own brain was bliss. His body lay safely in his bed. His mind exulted inside the Nexus development environment, tracing the events that had led to the fault. Here he was in his element.

Though I am not a fan of TV - it's mankind's greatest time-waster, the gift was completely appropriate, since I'll be in bed so much at the end. TV will be one of my last links to the outside world.

I do most of my shopping over the Internet because as a busy working mum I can do the supermarket shop when the kids have gone to bed.

Most pillows are air supported; the air goes out of them, and then your cervical nerves get bent.

I have my phone by my bed - I know everyone says you're supposed to turn it off - and it distorts your sleep, and they're probably right.

Do me a favor this morning. Draw the curtain and come back to bed. Forget the coffee. We'll pretend we're in a foreign country, and in love.

You'll be surprised to see what can collect in a mattress over the months, over the years. Every day, every night of our lives, we're leaving little bits of ourselves, flakes of this and that, behind. Where do they go, these bits and pieces of ourselves? Right through the sheets and into the mattress, that's where! Pillows, too. It's all the same. He

My left foot felt fine. It didn't have an ache in it. So I had to kick the corner of the bed with it.

Yukiko rolled over. That plain, that simple. Her body was small in its moving. And her hair followed, dreaming her as she moved. A cat, her cat, in bed with her was awakened by her moving, and watched her turn slowly over in bed. When she stopped moving, the cat went back to sleep. It was a black cat and could have been a suburb of her hair.

I lie in bed at home, trying to put feelings into words. On the one hand—and this is the part to do with the past—love feels like the vast and sudden easing of a lifelong frown. But simultaneously—this is the part to do with the present and the future—it feels as if the lungs of my soul have been inflated with pure oxygen.

Besides, it was a high bed. The dogs could never have gotten into it without help. Maybe one could have stood with its front paws on the bed frame while the other scaled its back in some unlikely dachshund Cirque de Soleil, but even then there would be only one dog in her bed, not two.

Your mother was not surprised to hear me say this. This was a time when the pendulum of hope still swung back and forth between us, so that some days she took to her bed with sorrow and some days she came home from the store with a shirt or a sweater or a pair of jeans that she would give you when you returned home to us.