Quotes About Room

He got everyone out of the room, keeping Danny. Danny stood, his hands dangling unhelpfully. 'Well?' he said. 'Adam is your man, you know, for sensitive nursing.' D'Harcourt, his hands pressing through Lymond's hair, said, 'But just think how he is going to enjoy finding you watching him when he wakes up.

It sounded well. It sounded rational, even, if you were not Francis Crawford. Put him, blindfold, in a closed room anywhere in the world … Lymond said, 'And that is your only excuse?' And Sybilla met his gaze with eyes as uncompromising as his own. 'I thought I was the excuse for your whole way of life?' she said calmly. And nothing had prepared him for that.

The moment is past. The chessboard has gone; and the people. You must let me take the room from you too.

It's a very handsome room, isn't it, madam? But it seems a great shame to keep up this big place just for women to study books in. I can't see what girls want with books. Books won't teach them to be good wives.

INTERIOR Her mind lives in a quiet room, A narrow room, and tall, With pretty lamps to quench the gloom And mottoes on the wall. There all the things are waxen neat And set in decorous lines; And there are posies, round and sweet, And little, straightened vines. Her mind lives tidily, apart From cold and noise and pain, And bolts the door against her heart, Out wailing in the rain.

He giggled and sniggered. He would have laughed out loud but he didn't have the room.

The daylight shouldered its way in like a squad of policemen and did a lot of what's-all-thising around the room

There was a distinct absence of anything female in the room--the same sort of absence that a missing picture leaves behind it on a wall.

The daylight shouldered its way in like a squad of policemen and did a lot of what's-all-thising around the room, which, like the bedroom, would have presented anyone of an aesthetic disposition with difficulties.

His white hair seemed to be waving at someone it knew in the next room.

and made what an outside observer would have thought was a heroic effort to cross the room.

Aynen öyle, dedi Zaphod, pek çok insan? yumuÅŸak duvarl? bir odaya kilitletecek türden bir s?r?t??la.

Ah," said Arthur, "er …" He had an odd feeling of being like a man in the act of adultery who is surprised when the woman's husband wanders into the room, changes his trousers, passes a few idle remarks about the weather and leaves again.

The Hollywood process is like trying to grill a steak by having a succession of people coming into the room and breathing on it.

meant he must have left it in his room. Exactly as Wellstone hoped. A few more people joined the entourage; they milled around outside

As I listened to this priest, all the presence and mystery disappeared from the room and everything returned to the relative world.

But how can any one be in there? There's no door except into this room. Your memory is excellent, Hastings. Now for the deductions.

We had reached Leastways Cottage, and Poirot ushered me upstairs to his own room. He offered me one of the tiny Russian cigarettes he himself occasionally smoked. I was amused to notice that he stowed away the used matches most carefully in a little china pot. My momentary annoyance vanished.

It was a crowd of people almost too surprised for words that crowded round Emily Trefusis. Inspector Narracott had led his prisoner from the room. Charles Enderby found his voice first.

The room into which Sir Charles was shown had walls of a rather drab oatmeal colour with a frieze of laburnum round the top. The curtains were of rose-coloured velvet, there were a lot of photographs and china dogs, the telephone was coyly hidden by a lady with ruffled skirts, there were a great many little tables and some suspicious-looking brasswork from Birmingham via the Far East.

There was a little pause—and in it a wave of horror seemed to float round the room. I think it was at that moment that I first believed Dr. Reilly's theory to be right. I felt that the murderer was in the room. Sitting with us—listening. One of us . .

It was a large room with a gleaming expanse of parquet floor on which were dotted expensive oriental rugs. It was delicately panelled in pale wood and there were some enormous stuffed chairs upholstered in pale buff leather. Behind a colossal sycamore desk, the centre and focus of the room, sat Mr. Fortescue himself.

No one needed to say it, but the room overflowed with that sort of blessing. The combination of loss and abundance. The abundance that has no guilt. The loss that has no fix. The simple tiredness that is not weary. The hope not built on blindness.

Sometimes it is possible to still embrace the wildness of home, even if the lone window in your room only blooms snow and more snow.