Quotes About Interior

I really, really like interior design. I grew up in a really old house outside of Philly that was built in 1821. My mom is really into antiques, and my dad is very mid-century. They're not together anymore, so in the middle of growing up, I, all of the sudden, had two houses that were very different but really well done in each of their own ways.

My mother's brother became the undersecretary of the interior for Nixon, which did cause a little drama in my family because I was going to riots and everything, but he turned out great and gave us a nice cheque for an AIDS benefit we had for the 'Serial Mom' premiere.

I bought a house, and I've been decorating it.

Every decorative piece in this house is my feeling, my choice.

In design-speak, 'a library' means a room lined with books, floor-to ceiling, but it all depends on the space you have. You may have a free-standing bookshelf of your favorite books if that's all you have room for.

It's called 'The Outlaw Album,' not 'The Ozarks Album.' These are stories that delve into different kinds of outlawry, from criminal acts to interior, or psychological, outlawry. The book is not meant to be a tapestry of the Ozarks.

I've asked the Department of the Interior inspector general to look into how much manpower and taxpayer money has been spent responding to ALEC-supported bills that force federal land managers to give land to states.

We labor to make a house a home, then every time we're expecting visitors, we rush to turn it back into a house.

overstuffed, out-of-period wingbacks and a matching couch sat before a walk-in fireplace;

IHAD MET Sherlock Holmes at a time when adolescence and the devastating circumstances of my orphaning had left me with an exterior toughness and an interior that was malleable to the personality of anyone willing to listen to me and take me seriously.

She suggests, too, that our capacity for intimate relationships can depend on having this deep core of private awareness; and that acknowledging our unknown and unseen selves, and offering these up only when and if we choose, is essential to our ability to engage in close relationships. Valuing interior experience is vital to developing a sense of self, and how we reveal ourselves to the outside world has everything to do with how we stay out of view when we need to.

Only the interior life can sustain us in the hidden, backbreaking labor of planting the seed that seems to go so long without fruit.

Elsewheres South The long green shutters are drawn. Against what parades? Closing our eyes against the sun, We try to imagine The darkness of an interior Where something might still happen: The razor lying open On the cool marble washstand, The drip of something--is it water?-- Upon stone floors.

A dwelling should be not a retreat from space, but life in space.

One's life, from being an exterior thing, grows inwards. Its intensity stays the same; and, d'you know, it's most mysterious, the corners in which the joy of living can sometimes hide away.

My wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One of us has got to go.

The interior life is a real life, and the intangible dreams of people have a tangible effect on the world.

a huge claw-foot bathtub in the black and white bathroom.

My sister once asked why it always feels, in any car, as if you're sitting inside a man's wash bag, and she has a point. They're normally black and dark and enlivened only by some red stripes.

In people like us, the craving is as strong as the craving for food or water, the yearning for touch or light or love. I was looking for something--a diversion, an occupation, an unwavering force--that would elevate me, that would lift me out of the melancholy dissection of my own interior geography that otherwise would have consumed me pitilessly, as it had my father. I wanted to fly above myself-- if only for a few hours--and look down in tranquility upon my life.

Barefooted on the slick brick walk I rushed to where I could breathe in the cool breath from the interior of the springhouse. On a cold bubbling spring, covered dishes and crocks and pitchers of milk and butter and so on floated in a circle in the mild whirlpool, like horses on a merry-go-round, in the water that smelled of the mint that grew close by.

The Lamar Life stationary carried on its letterhead an oval portrait of Lucius Quintus Cincinnatus Lamar, for whom the Company had been named: a Mississippian who had been a member of Congress, Secretary of the Interior under Cleveland, and a U.S. Supreme Court Justice, a powerful orator who had pressed for the better reconciliation of North and South after the Civil War.

It has the look of a home where the wife takes care of everything inside, while the husband neglects everything outside.

Buzz crouched between her feet and scrutinised as much as he could see of her perilous interior to find out if all was in order and there were no concealed fangs or guillotines inside her to ruin him.