Quotes About Room

Thirty-nine murders in forty-eight hours. And all of them in this room. It doesn't add up. [Reflects.] Goddamn it, it doesn't add up. [Pause.] It doesn't add up, I say.

I switch on the light beside my bed and the old, beautiful room takes shape – the four-poster with its carved oak pillars, the dark oak chest, the dressing table with its prude petticoat of spotted muslin, the low, uneven ceiling, the wavy oak floor. How many hundreds and thousands of people have awakened in this room; awakened to their sorrows and their joys, their hopes and their fears?

I switch on the light beside my bed and the old, beautiful room takes shape – the four-poster with its carved oak pillars, the dark oak chest, the dressing table with its prude petticoat of spotted muslin, the low, uneven ceiling, the wavy oak floor. How many hundreds and thousands of people have awakened in this room; awakened to their sorrows and their joys, their hopes and their fears? Strange that I should have slept so well, untroubled by the haunting of their thoughts!

Paradoxically, that large screen in the cavernous, crowded room creates intimacy. And violence is an intimate act. If you are punching someone, or if you are pinpointing someone in the telescope of your rifle, you are as close to your victim as to a lover, trying to think like them, anticipate their moves, overcome them.

I got into architecture via fine arts, and I was a sculptor myself, and I have always involved artists in my projects. When I say 'involved,' I mean I always bring artists in at the beginning projects before they're built and say, 'Will you do a room? Will you do a sculpture floating in mid-air? Will you make a chimney? Will you do something?'

I believed or thought I was disoriented and the victim of a bizarre dream and I believe I paced in and out of the room and possibly into one of the other rooms. I may have re-examined her, finally believing that this was true.

It doesn't matter whether you're a former player or you come up through the video room, whether you come from college. You have to earn that trust from NBA players every day.

Standing before the worn books and dusty shelves, she seemed like a ray of light in the windowless room.

They exchanged a brief grin and Westcliff left the room. "Arrogant, high-handed creature," Lillian remarked, her smile lingering as she watched the earl's departure. "God, I adore him.

I always wondered how love could translate into an emergency room visit.

More to the point, the footman conveyed your luggage to one of the upstairs rooms, but no one seems to know which one." "Has anyone thought of asking him?" Devon suggested dryly.

My mama used to say the blues is an ailment that don't like no sunshine in the room.

George Vida braced his hands on the table before taking his seat, his gaze strafing the room with the discernment of a leathery old goat sniffing for something to nibble on.

When at last the time came for Wonder Woman's costume unveiling, the room was abuzz. Literally. Bumblebee's costume had malfunctioned again, sending electrical stings all around the classroom, which heightened the excitement.

There were shadows galore in the dim light, but there was one shadow that did not correspond to any object in the room. It lurked next to the fireplace, a formless, undulating darkness.

And of all the rooms in my childhood, God was the largest and most empty.

I have a theory about pink pastry boxes. So much joy comes from those boxes. When someone walks into a room with a pink pastry box, joy immediately fills the room. World peace? Three words. Pink pastry box. I get a big cup of coffee and finalize my plans for world domination.

The room smelled of stale leather and genteel decay, like an old woman waiting patiently for the lover who had jilted her to return after sixty years.

The Lord says her head must be pointed toward Golgotha." The man was crazed. Merrick just looked at him blankly. "Calvary," the good brother explained. "'Tis the hill where Christ was—" "I bloody well know where Golgotha is, you idiot! I've been there! Now get out of this room before I crucify you!

Just remember, there's not a lot of softness in his life, or room for weakness—of which you're definitely one. He has absolutely no idea what to do with you, and as an action guy, that's confusing to him. So maybe think about taking it easy on him. Even just a little bit.

Suddenly it felt as if there was a whole heck of a lot less oxygen in the room than there'd been only a moment before, which had to explain why she'd melted into him when she hadn't meant to. She tossed back her head to say something defensive, but the look on his face stopped her.

Mickey Mouse woke me up, my alarm jangling noisily, his little hand on two and the big hand on twelve. I wanted to smack the clock for waking me up, but I reined in the impulse. I'm not against a little creative violence now and then, but you have to draw the line somewhere. I wouldn't sleep in the same room with a person who would smack Mickey Mouse.

Tropical trees had been planted throughout the room, along with bright flowering plants that were busy committing the olfactory floral equivalent of aggravated assault.

I followed him into the living room. His battered thrift-store entertainment center was empty and toppled in the thieves' haste to leave, as were the makeshift bricks-and-boards shelves that had held his movie and game collection. The rest of the room looked okay, or at least okay by college-bro standards. In some guys' places, you'd be hard-pressed to know if they had been ransacked or not.