Quotes About Apartment

There were no bookshelves in the little apartment where we lived, so the Professor's study, with its stacks of volumes lining the walls, seemed magical to him.

But as he lay dying in the bedroom of his Collingwood Street apartment, the beloved entertainer could hear the crowd chanting his name two blocks away: "Sylvester! Sylvester! Sylvester!

The only good thing about a singles apartment is that you never had to clean it up. At least not until the day you moved and tried to get the security deposit back. Then you'd argue with the landlord. "No sir, the back door was missing when we moved in here. The pizzas were always on the ceiling."

With the world and its goings-on constantly blasting through our computer screens, relevance was the thing we craved, whether it was obtained in the media spotlight or with the accumulation of wealth or in being counter-everything or finding an apartment in a cool neighborhood.

Ever since she had become my Manager, my raises had become smaller and smaller. The last raise had been a huge leech shaped like a helmet. It was meant to suck all the bad thoughts out of your head. It smelled like bacon, which seemed promising. I had invited Mord and Leer over to my apartment and we'd fried it up in a skillet. I'd gotten a week's worth of sandwiches out of it.

Giulio and Maria have a beautiful apartment, the most impressive feature of which is, to my mind, the wall that Maria once covered with angry curses against Giulio (scrawled in black magic marker) because they were having an argument and 'he yells louder than me' and she wanted to get a word in edgewise.

Life and I became friends some years ago - not the sort of exciting friendship I longed for as a child, but a kindly truce, a pleasure in coming home every day to my apartment. I have a moment now and then - as I peel an orange and take it from kitchen counter to table - when I feel almost a pang of contentment, perhaps at that raw colour.

I love to run. When the weather's bad, I should get on the treadmill in the basement gym of my apartment building, but I lack the motivation.

I moved to the city in August of 1980, and someone I thought was a friend had an apartment in this wedding cake of a building, so I slept on her couch for a few days.

I was born in Jerusalem in 1939 to a poor family that shared a rented four-room apartment with two additional families and their children.

I like to encourage people interested in gardening or planting to begin with a simple herb garden. Even if you live in a small apartment, you can have some herb pots.

I actually covered a fire once at the apartment complex where I was living.

I have a lot of respect for people who really work on their life - they've got this great apartment and a good personality, they write the thank-you cards and bake birthday cakes. That's who I wish I was. When I see people cultivate their own life like that, I admire it.

Working with Tracy Morgan on '30 Rock' is really great. I love Tracy. He's wonderful. Well, until his fish tank caught fire - his apartment burned up and flooded my apartment. We live in the same building, but I'm eight floors below him and we had to evacuate.

He jackrabbits to the stairs, but instead of running away he turns around and does a merry little soft-shoe routine. When he's done he sings "Rum-tiddley-um-tum-tay" before disappearing down the stairs. I stagger back to the apartment with a handful of blood and embarrassment. Fuck Hollywood is at the door when I get there.

Hi, Stark. I didn't hear you come in. What are you boys up to?" It's Candy. She's coming down the stairs from the second-floor apartment. When I didn't see her in the store, I thought she was out. Me and Kasabian freeze like kids caught snorting Mom and Dad's coke in the garage.

Usually, I park on North Rossmore in front of the Spartan Apartment Hotel, but tonight I drove to the alley behind the Spartan and pulled into one of the slots there.

I parked my distinctive Cadillac—I say distinctive not because it's beautiful but because it's a '41 convertible painted a God-awful yellow—across the street from the Spartan Apartment Hotel. I smoked a cigarette while I worried, then flipped the butt carelessly in the general direction of the well-kept grounds of the Wilshire Country Club. That's how mean I felt.

Belson came into the apartment with some crime-scene people and two homicide detectives. "This guy," Charlie said, and looked at his notebook, "Spenser. He was impersonating a police officer." Belson glanced at him. "We all thought that," Belson said, "when he was a cop.

Corsetti pulled up and parked on 52nd Street in front of an apartment near the river. He put the cop light on top of the cruiser. "Keep the fucking traffic buzzards from hauling it off to the tow lot," he said.

Stepping into the apartment was like entering a furnace. Pike began sweating. They were in a cramped living room. As

Daniel loved these damned hurricanes. He folded back the shutters, then opened the window. Rain hit him good. It tasted of salt and smelled of dead fish and weeds. The cat-five wind clawed through New Orleans at better than a hundred miles an hour, but back here in the alley—in a cheap one-room apartment over a po'boy shop—the wind was no stronger than an arrogant breeze. The

This was the only real difference between the two of them, an empty apartment, and another full of life.

The outdoors is what you must pass through in order to get from your apartment into a taxicab. said Fran Lebowitz