Quotes About Ambiance

If you think it ain't dismal and lonesome out in a fog that way, by yourself, in the night, you try it once – you'll see.

Outside is dark. The kitchen light is loud. It deafens me as I walk towards it.

A light bulb creates an environment by its mere presence.

Light helps define a place. Here the light has color. It changes throughout the day and it's unpredictable.

The nights are clear but suffused with sloth and sullen expectation.

I wish I had a tray table in my bedroom and I wish I smoked, just so I could extinguish my smoking materials

In their wake the bite of incense lingered in the sultry air.

On the whole, Flora liked it better when they were silent, though it did rather give her the feeling that she was acting in one of the less cheerful German highbrow films.

I cannot bear natural light when I'm writing.

Reading in bed can be heaven, assuming you can get just the right amount of light on the page and aren't prone to spilling your coffee or cognac on the sheets.

When night comes on in a room lit by kerosene, any flicker of the flame can give the sense that darkness is about to triumph.

I don't approve of open fires. You can't think, or talk or even make love in front of a fireplace. All you can do is stare at it.

rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the shiny Marmoleum.

AMBIENT FEAR: background anxiety of everyday life

The air began to taste warm and furry.

Miles Davis is my go-to for music. There's something so relaxing and ambient about it, and it can be a little manic in a good way.

I can't make a house homely. My house just looks like a garage or a shed. I'm not untidy, but it just looks so uninviting.

I love candles and creating a homely space.

I aspire to be a good dinner party host.

We move through soundscapes all the time, and most of them are accidental - a by-product. Most retail soundscapes are accidental, incongruent with the brands, and mostly hostile.

I love the Bowery Hotel by night.

More pianos in hotel rooms please.

The unpainted walls of the long rectangular room were soaked with the smell of greasy chicken and warm, headless beer. The brown and pink faces floated above the trails of used cigarette smoke like bodiless carnival balloons.

From Woody's Restaurant, Middlebury Today, noon, a young macho friendly waiter and three diners, business types—two males, one female— are in a quandary about the name of the duck paddling Otter Creek, the duck being brown, but too large to be a female mallard. They really want to know, and I'm the human-watcher behind the nook of my table, camouflaged by my stillness and nonchalant plumage. They really want to know. This sighting I record in the back of my Field Guide to People.