Quotes About Bed

The Lab hopped up on the picnic table, his coat matted with wet sand. He walked over and sat down next to me, looking out at the ocean as if to say, Pretty nice, huh? I took quick stock of my world as I stood there—thatched pub, clean bed, cool pint of stout, a Labrador—and it was pretty nice, indeed. hole 199

I do have odd habits. I check under my bed every night for the bogeyman. That's just a little thing, though.

I like to work from home. I do most of my writing in bed, late at night after everyone has gone to sleep. I need to be alone with my thoughts, and late at night is about the only time that can actually happen.

I have such a dancer's spirit that I tend to leap around the house. Once I leaped onto my bed and landed on the floor. But I danced more for myself than I did for other people.

She raised herself up on her elbow and jerked her chin at his stiff arms and motionless body. You're acting like you've never been in bed with a female before. This time only one eyebrow went up and his lip twitched like he was trying to hide a smile. Is that how you'd like me to relax?

Man's inability to get out of bed in the morning is a curious thing. One may reason with oneself clearly and forcibly without the slightest effect. One knows that delay means inconvenience. Perhaps it may spoil one's whole day. And one also knows that a single resolute heave will do the trick. But logic is of no use. One simply lies there.

Cool! I don't have to be told twice. I'm a monster not a Morin. He moved quickly back to the bed.

He] saw that a peculiar expression had come into his nephew's face; an expression a little like that of a young hindu fakir who having settled himself on his first bed of spikes is beginning to wish that he had chosen one of the easier religions.

Ah, well,' I said resignedly, 'if that's that, that's that, what?' 'So it would appear, sir.' 'Nothing to do but keep the chin up and the upper lip as stiff as can be managed. I think I'll go to bed with an improving book. Have you read The Mystery of the Pink Crayfish by Rex West?

Beside the Duke's bed was a little print in a gold frame whose Gothic characters caught my eye. Caramba! I thought, it must be the Albas' family tree. I was wrong. It was Rudyard Kipling's "If—," that uninspired, sanctimonious poetry, precursor of the Reader's Digest, whose intellectual level, in my opinion, was no higher than that of the Duke of Alba's shoes. May the British Empire forgive me!

Sorrow was like sleeping on stone, he decided. You had to settle all its bumps and sharp edges, come to terms against them, fit them around until they became bearable, and then carry your bed wherever you went.

Should I wake him? Damned if I'd try. Even with that shoulder he's likely to come up out of that bed with murder in mind if we startle him. There were times when he was fevered that I thought he'd throttle me. For a man who likes children and animals, he's got a lot of violence in him. I daresay he has his reasons.

She was a little bit of a thing with a light untidy fluff of hair and a nose which went pink in moments of emotion. It was pink now and it quivered. She dabbed aimlessly at her hair and three of the remaining pins fell out. William stooped to pick them up, and wished he hadn't. He said he thought he would go to bed, and went.

Langdon shook his head. "No, and I seriously doubt I'm the kind of man who could ever have a religious experience." Vittoria slipped off her robe. "You've never been to bed with a yoga master, have you?

On the seat beside him, in between him and his father, Ryan's severed hand is resting on a bed of ice in an eight-quart Styrofoam cooler.

My bed wasn't feeling well this morning, so I had to stay home to take care of it.

I have three phobias ...: I hate going to bed, get up and hate hate being alone.

That detestable product of the folly of our fore-fathers—a feather-bed.

The man himself lay in the bed. For a long while we just stood there, looking down at the profound and fleshless grin. The body had apparently once lain in the attitude of an embrace, but now the long sleep that outlasts love, that conquers even the grimace of love, had cuckolded him.

The Australian sculptor who made leather sandals said that Beethoven's duet for viola and cello sounded to him like two bulky women rummaging under a bed. Behind him a girl said, —Of course I like music, but not just to listen to.

He sat on the bed for a long time, savoring the new thing, the treasure. Rage.

Angie called pause again, rose from the bed, went to the window. She felt an elation, an unexpected sense of strength and inner unity.

Buttercup sat up in bed. It must be his teeth. The farm boy did have good teeth, give credit where credit was due.

A double bed can seem awfully small if your'e sharing it with someone you don't love." -Misia ? Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky