Quotes About Ceiling

The words from the letter were trapped in my head, trapped, it seemed, beneath the sloping ceiling of my attic flat, like a bird that has got in down the chimney.

The ceiling angled down right over me and I raised my arm and touched it with my fingertips. All children, I thought, should be permitted to sleep in such a room; the child loves nooks and odd angles and is frightened into nightmare by equidistance, by parallel planes which conceal nothing.

The ceilings had set off a ghostly echo, giving all that desperate hilarity the quality of a memory even as I sat listening to it, memories of things I'd never known.

As the night wore on (phosphorescent in the streetlamps, violet city midnights that never quite faded to black) I turned from side to side, the low ceiling over the bunk pressing down on me so heavily that sometimes I woke convinced I was lying underneath the bed instead of on top of it.

There couldn't be too many bars in the world, I thought, where a man acted out a scene from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel when he wanted an Amstel Light.

Their laughter rose to the ceiling and shook hands there.

Last night I lay in bed looking up at the stars in the sky and I thought to myself, where the heck is the ceiling.

He describes it as a large apartment, with a red brick floor and a capacious chimney; the ceiling garnished with hams, sides of bacon, and ropes of onions.

The man on the ceiling casts shadows of flesh, and sometimes the shadows take on lives of their own.

She pointed above the little king's crib where a cutout piece of parchment hung from the ceiling. Froi's eyes followed her finger across the ceiling to the wall, where the light from the moon made a shape of a rabbit.

Storyboarded by the West Coast's finest, the ceiling celebrated the exploits of that most durable of action heroes—God.

The ceilings of hospital rooms are stained with the oily residue of souls spat out of dying patients' parched mouths. The

Only the very top of the arched ceiling remained in shadow, as though some dark creature lurked there, devouring all light that strayed too close.

The long-forgotten, living eyes of the portrait began to torment him, and then his madness became dreadful. All the people who surrounded his bed seemed to him horrible portraits. The portrait doubled and quadrupled itself; all the walls seemed hung with portraits, which fastened their living eyes upon him; portraits glared at him from the ceiling, from the floor; the room widened and lengthened endlessly, in order to make room for more of the motionless eyes.

Then I placed the blade next to the skin on my palm. A tingle arched across my scalp. The floor tipped up at me and my body spilled away. Then I was on the ceiling looking down, waiting to see what would happen next...

I go through to lie on my bed and leave the light offI watch the city lightes move accross the ceiling, splintering up the darkness. It's not ever really dark in our room. Even with the lights off, the cars and neons and street lights leave a glow all the time.

The light filled all present with a special grace and warmth. I swear it smiled. Then the light was gone and the ceiling returned, having the nerve to act as if it had never left.

I stared up at the plaster ceiling as I had done as a child. It seemed to me that the vibrating patterns overhead were sliding into place. The mandala of my life.

Sam looked up at the ceiling. Are you bathing up there, Marcus? I am. Would you care to join me? She could almost see the smirk on his face when she told him to shut up.

Through the smoke she could feel bodies around her. Hot and faint, she felt for them with her hands. The gunfire came from right outside the door, but when the lattice beam fell from the ceiling, all sounds faded away, all faded away, and there was no more fear. Only regret was left. Regret for Alexander.