Quotes About Apartment

You're trying to convince me?" Amy asked. "The one who has a second apartment two blocks from her first apartment just so she can get away from her rabbit for a couple of hours a day?

If finding an apartment is like falling in love, buying one is like proposing on your first date and agreeing not to see each other until the wedding.

A great Austrian painter -- he lives in a forest in Hungary -- came by the apartment one day with his daughters, both red-headed with pigtails, pale-faced, silent. They wore the kind of clothes you can't buy in any shop, you have to get them delivered direct from the turn of the century.

I have a nice apartment now that's all taken care of. I make my bed every day.

I'm on my own now. I have my own apartment.

I don't want to own something that you can't take into your apartment at night.

Does anybody actually go out in L.A.? When I lived there, I'd just stay in my apartment.

I live in a little studio apartment, so I try to keep the space super clean at all times.

Henry believes he knows exactly when the ninety-four-year-old woman in the neighbouring apartment dies. He hears her turn off. Until now he has not been able to distinguish her from her appliances – her washing machine, her vacuum cleaner, her radiators, her television. But the moment she gives up the ghost he detects the cessation of a noise of which he was not previously aware. A hum, was it? A whirr? Impossible to say. There is no word for the sound a life makes.

Islam may soon become the majority religion in countries whose churches have been turned more and more into tourist sites, apartment houses, theatres, and places of entertainment. The French scholar Olivier Roy is right: Islam is now a European religion.

It is a fake, but a good fake. Turkey is the land of the masterful fake. But it is far far from that hateful little eighth-floor apartment huddling between the roar of the expressway and the blare of the mosque.

By the end of the 1990s, my relationship was ending with the mom of my son, Little Ice. So I just picked up and left everything I had in L.A. and transitioned to New York. I went from that big-ass house in Hollywood Hills and got a one-bedroom apartment with no furniture

Subletting is great. You get to try on all these different versions of yourself. This apartment was clearly decorated by an artist - there's a great, big, huge chandelier and red fur rug, and it's all stuff that I would never, ever, ever buy.

Sure, my childhood was unusual. All these eccentric, wild people frequented our home: rock stars, drag queens, models, bikers, freaks. But I was not this little rich girl. My mom and I lived in an apartment.

But you were the one who came to see it! You said it was just what you were looking for!" Her voice rising—and not in an I-fancy-you way—Ginny said, "You said it was perfect!" He blinked, nonplussed. "It is perfect. For Laurel." Frantically, Ginny ran back through everything he'd told her. "No, hang on, you said your flat was too small…

Back to my apartment? The FBI is there just waiting to slap handcuffs on me. Well then I guess you shouldn't have decided to become a terrorist, Harry! Hey, I never-- Bob raised his voice and shouted toward the centipedes, I'm not with him!

Despite my struggles, Mister had been an understanding soul, and I eventually came to realize that I was a part of his little family, and by his gracious consent was allowed to remain in his apartment. Cats. Go figure. I

wildcat. I found him in a Dumpster one day when he was a kitten and he promptly adopted me. Despite my struggles, Mister had been an understanding soul, and I eventually came to realize that I was a part of his little family, and by his gracious consent was allowed to remain in his apartment. Cats. Go figure.

My apartment is a studio, one not-too-large room with a kitchenette in the corner and a fireplace to one side. There's a door that leads to the other room, my bedroom and bathroom, and then there's the hinged door in the floor that goes down to the subbasement, where I keep my lab.

I eventually came to realise that I was a part of his little family, and by his gracious consent was allowed to remain in his apartment. Cats. Go figure.

Felix had curled up against me for a nap, and I could feel his purr—such a giant sound for such a tiny thing—humming against my ribs. Ever since we'd come to the apartment, Felix had seemed to think that I'd become his mother. It was embarrassing, but I'd given up shoving him away. You can't really expect a cat to act like he's got brains.

My family lives in that building now, along with Grandpa in the fourth-floor "penthouse" apartment, as he calls the converted space that was once an attic studio.

The silence in the apartment is loud.

Jesus, Dolores, you've got to get yourself together. You've got responsibilities. Think about those sometimes - okay? - and get your fucking head right. Those were the last words his wife heard from him. He'd closed the door and walked down the stairs, paused on the last step. He thought of going back. He thought of going back up the stairs and into the apartment and somehow making it right. Or, if not right, at least softer. Softer. That would have been nice.