Best 1296 quotes in «bed quotes» category

In many a case, the phrase ‘I’d like to get to know you better’ is a euphemism for ‘I want us to fuck.

In the parking lot, she drove and parked in a dark area with no other cars around. She reclined her seat, and listened to music. Outside there were trees, a ditch, a bridge; another parking lot. It was very dark. Maybe the Sasquatch would run out from the woods. Chelsea wouldn’t be afraid. She would calmly watch the Sasquatch jog into the ditch then out, hairy and strong and mysterious—to be so large yet so unknown; how could one cope except by running?—smash through some bushes, and sprint, perhaps, behind Wal-Mart, leaping over a shopping cart and barking. Did the Sasquatch bark? It used to alarm Chelsea that this might be all there was to her life, these hours alone each day and night—thinking things and not sharing them and then forgetting—the possibility of that would shock her a bit, trickily, like a three-part realization: that there was a bad idea out there; that that bad idea wasn’t out there, but here; and that she herself was that bad idea. But recently, and now, in her car, she just felt calm and perceiving, and a little consoled, even, by the sad idea of her own life, as if it were someone else’s, already happened, in some other world, placed now in the core of her, like a pillow that was an entire life, of which when she felt exhausted by aloneness she could crumple and fall towards, like a little bed, something she could pretend, and believe, even (truly and unironically believe; why not?), was a real thing that had come from far away, through a place of no people, a place of people, and another place of no people, as a gift, for no occasion, but just because she needed—or perhaps deserved; did the world try in that way? to make things fair?—it.

I sat up in the strange bed fearing it had been a dream, afraid I would never see her again. Not because I wanted anything from her, only her presence. The disappearance of the presence of beauty is the most despairing of events on this time-wheel of ours that rolls onward towards death.

Thanks for giving me a place to sleep last night, and for the extra blanket. Vi. -Violet's note to Lincoln

I sleep and sleep and sleep, yet I still have an unquenchable thirst for it.

I slept cause she cheated. She slept cause I cheated! WTF! We Need? Let's buy a loyal bed.

It was truly an abomination of nature that one always found the most comfortable spot in the bed five minutes before one had to leave it.

It is a cute studio apartment that has just what I need: a bed, a couch, a table, a chair, and a coffee-maker.

I thought crocodiles lived under my bed and if my feet hung over the side, they'd get bitten off. So I slept in a ball. I think I still do actually." Oh God. Shut up. Shut up. "Out of habit, I mean, not crocodiles. I d-don't think that anymore. Obviously." He was quiet a moment. And then, faintly accusingly, "You know that's adorable, don't you?" I tripped hard over adorable and couldn't think how to answer. So I said nothing at all, and merely enjoyed my few minutes in a dangerous puddle with a man who maybe thought I was adorable.

It takes grace to stop working and go to bed. When in bed, more grace is needed to rise up and begin work again.

It was not a bed with curtains, but a bed with doors like shutters. This may not seem like a nice way of having a bed, but we would all be glad of the wooden curtains about us at night if we lived in such a cottage, on the side of a hill along which the wind swept like a wild river. Through the cottage it would be streaming all night long. And a poor woman with a cough, or a man who has been out in the cold all day, is very glad of such a place to lie in, and leave the the rest of the house to the wind and the fairies.

It was the first time he'd persuaded a girl into bed by mentioning the possibility of fleas.

I want to be your last thought when you go to bed and the first one when you open your eyes again. Let me seep into your subconscious.

I was also sick of my neighbors, as most Parisians are. I now knew every second of the morning routine of the family upstairs. At 7:00 am alarm goes off, boom, Madame gets out of bed, puts on her deep-sea divers’ boots, and stomps across my ceiling to megaphone the kids awake. The kids drop bags of cannonballs onto the floor, then, apparently dragging several sledgehammers each, stampede into the kitchen. They grab their chunks of baguette and go and sit in front of the TV, which is always showing a cartoon about people who do nothing but scream at each other and explode. Every minute, one of the kids cartwheels (while bouncing cannonballs) back into the kitchen for seconds, then returns (bringing with it a family of excitable kangaroos) to the TV. Meanwhile the toilet is flushed, on average, fifty times per drop of urine expelled. Finally, there is a ten-minute period of intensive yelling, and at 8:15 on the dot they all howl and crash their way out of the apartment to school.” (p.137)

Many a rich man’s bed is bigger than many a poor woman’s bedroom; his bedroom, her house.

Where's my bed?!" Dairine shrieked. "It's on Pluto," Nita said. "On the winter side, somewhere nice and dark and quiet, where you won't find it if you look all day-which you're not going to have time to do, becaus you'll be in school.

I will wake up and make coffee for you and me before you wake up I will sit in the chair next to the bed just to look at your beautiful smiling face I love to see you when you sleep tenderly in the bed dreaming about you and me in a faraway island...

It's a cute little studio apartment that has just what I need: a bed, a couch, a table, a chair, and a coffee-maker.

My bed is the magical place where I love to overthink like a PSYCHO.

Maybe our marriage is bound to be a fight, but it will have its compensations. Fights that end in bed have their own singular excitement, remember.

Most animals sleep in a hole in the ground or hanging from a tree. Man alone has made for himself an elaborate resting place. And yet he is the only one to have developed the alarm clock to rouse himself from it, the only species to spend sixteen or more hours of each day away from it.

My eyes roved over the walls covered with my collages and prints of famous paintings. Magritte, Kandinsky, Kahlo. My origami shapes hung from fishing wire, dangling over my bed. They shivered in the slight breeze blowing through my open window. It was my own little escape pod, but none of it was enough tonight.

My body weeps to live when you make me believe that someday I will be dead soul sleepless in graveyard's bed

Noah propped himself up on his elbow, his wicked grin in place. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to see you on this bed?” “Nope.” The hem of my sweater rode up from our fall, exposing my belly button. Noah traced circles onto the skin of my stomach, down to the material of my low-rise jeans. His touch sent a combination of tickles and chills through my body. My heart sped up and I struggled to keep my breathing normal. Every Noah rumor had been right. His kisses curled my toes and now his simple touch rocked my body. Fear mingled with the pleasure in my bloodstream.

Noah sits up, and when I try to duck out of reach, he advances like a tiger and flips me so that I’m lying flat on the bed. He presses his palms onto the comforter on both sides of my head, and his dark eyes bore into mine. My heart pounds wildly and, because I can’t help myself, I reach up and touch his face, sliding my fingers over the rough shadow of his jaw. Noah leans into my touch, and I love that I have that effect on him. I lick my lips, half hoping he kisses me—half wondering what would happen if he did.

On gray days, when it's snowing or raining, I think you should be able to call up a judge and take an oath that you'll just read a good book all day, and he'd allow you to stay home.

Sam was stiff and tired. He crept onto the houseboat, careful not to wake anyone, and sidled down the narrow passage to his bunk. The shades were drawn and of course there were no lights, so he felt his way to the edge of his bed and crawled across it on hands and knees to find his pillow. He collapsed on his back. But even at the edge of sleep he was aware of something different about the bed. Then he felt soft breath on his cheek. He turned and her lips were on his. Not gentle. Not soft. She kissed him hard, and it was like he’d been awakened by an electric power line. She kissed him and slid on top of him. Their bodies did the rest. At some point in the hours that followed he said, “Astrid?” “Don’t you think you should have made sure of that about three times ago?” Astrid said in her familiar, slightly condescending tone. They said many things to each other after that, but nothing that involved words.

Plans make dreams reality.

QUIET NIGHT THOUGHT Before my bed the moonlight glitters, Like frost upon the ground. I look up to the mountain moon, Look down and think of home.

She leaned against him, listening to his strong heartbeat as they cuddled together. Maybe he didn’t say all the right things, and maybe he didn’t do it all in the right way, but he was hers, and she was his, and they’d figure it all out together. Because she knew now that both of them were in this for the long haul, and that he’d be there for her no matter what. And that’s what counted the most.

She felt strange. For a moment it seemed to her that the day was already over--she was in bed, asleep, and then it was the next day and now here she was again. 'Oh,' she said.

She knew every single one of us. Gave us the chance to share in her bed. We all took comfort that she was here and we were not alone. The princess had nothing but love to give.

She was sleeping on the bed like a novel that is yet to be read and he sat on the floor, reading her, moving his fingers through her hair and staring at her face like she was magic that none ever understood.

The first one to bed always lit the candle, and the last one turned out the lamp....The tradition had seen them through quite a bit by now, and Rebecca had come to love the candlelight, not only because it meant that Mike loved to see her just the way she was, which was incredibly liberating once you began to actually believe it, but also because the light just felt holy to her. It made the end of the day into a kind of prayer, whether they made love or just lay in each other's arms and chewed over the day's portion of craziness; and there was that beautiful little puff of "Amen" when they blew the candle out and settled into sleep.

Snow makes a soft bed, but no man wakes from it. That was the wisdom of the North.

Some dark Presence watching by my bed, The awful image of a nameless dread ―

Some nights as you get to bed, you wonder whether to turn the page or close the book.

Spring can still be felt even if you lay under the bed Frozen heart can melt in coldness when wintry love misled

The difference between fucking and loving is taboo to some because not everyone can separate their emotions.

Siri ya mafanikio yako ni chumba chako. Dali linasema anga ndicho kipimo cha kufikiria; Dirisha linasema utazame nje uone fursa zilizopo ulimwenguni; Feni linasema uwe mtulivu usikurupuke kufanya lolote; Kalenda inasema uwe mtu anayekwenda na wakati; Kioo kinasema ujitazame na ujiamini kabla ya kutenda lolote; Kitabu cha dini kinasema unapaswa kumwamini Mungu ili uishi; Kitanda kinasema ujifunze kuwa na likizo; Mlango unasema usipitwe na fursa ya aina yoyote ile hapa duniani; Saa inasema kila sekunde ina thamani sana katika maisha yako hivyo tumia muda wako vizuri. Amka uishi.

Some memories should be dead as they are like living corpse in mortal's bed

sometimes i wake up in the middle of the night and find poetry splattered all over my bed.

Stay in your bed as long as you want. Your money just left for work.

The easiest way to success is through bed. You can only dream about it.

The principal furniture in Billie's mind was a good-sized bed.

The lawyer was a short, ugly, little man. He stood about three feet taller than his desk’s two foot eight inch frame and he had dark eyes. Lois couldn’t tell if they were black or an extremely dark brown. His hair was dirty blonde and very messy. He looked as if he had just crawled out of bed. His white button up shirt was tucked in on only one side and the other side hung out freely. He wore a pair of tan khakis and a pair of black loafers. His skin almost matched the khakis which was extremely creepy and Lois kept thinking the man wasn’t wearing pants.

The more silent you are at bed during times of crisis, the more are the chances of an amicable, dignified and a not so counterproductive interchange of romantic exuberance.

There are things so horrible that even the dark is afraid of them. Most people don't know this and this is just as well because the world could not really operate if everyone stayed in bed with the blankets over their head, which is what would happen if people knew what horrors lay a shadow's width away.

There have been nights I’ve shared a twin bed with him and still couldn’t get close enough. Then there have been nights spent in a king bed where I’ve felt as though his annoying ass was still in my personal space. We e b b and f l o w. But there’s no one else I’d rather crash into every night when the tide hits its inevitable peak.

There is a certain proper and luxurious way of lying in bed. Confucius, that great artist of life, "never lay straight" in bed, "like a corpse", but always curled up on one side. I believe one of the greatest pleasures of life is to curl up one's legs in bed. The posture of the arms is also very important, in order to reach the greatest degree of aesthetic pleasure and mental power. I believe the best posture is not lying flat on the bed, but being upholstered with big soft pillows at an angle of thirty degrees with either one arm or both arms placed behind the back of one's head.