My Own Bed Quotes

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My Own Bed Quotes

I want my own bed, in my own apartment. Home sweet home. No place like home. Take me home, country roads. Home is where the heart is. But my heart is here. So I must be home.
— Audrey Niffenegger —

The important things in life always happened by accident. At fifteen she didn't know much, in fact, with each passing year she was a lot less clear about most things. But this much she did know. You could worry yourself sick trying to be a better person, spend a thousand sleepless nights figuring out how to live clean and decent and honest, you could make a plan and bolt it in place, kneel by your bed every night and swear to God you'd stick to it, hell, you could go to church and promise properly. You could cross your heart seven times with your eyes tight shut, cut your thumb and squeeze it and pen solemn vows on a rock with your own blood then throw it in the river at the stroke of midnight. And then, out of the black beyond, like a hawk on a rat, some nameless catastrophe would swoop into your life and turn everything upside down and inside out forever.

— Nicholas Evans

So I was thinking ... "
"That's what I smell."
"Geez." I rolled my eyes. "You and Tink have more in common than you want to admit."
"I might have to kick you out of the bed for that."
I snorted. "Um, yeah, you can't kick me out of my own bed. Sorry."
"Whatever," he replied. "What were you thinking about?

— Jennifer L. Armentrout

She bought a poster of the Beatles and tacked it on the wall above her bed. On days when she was feeling strong her favorite was John, and on days when she was feeling weak her favorite was George, perhaps because there was a vulnerability to John that she was afraid to indulge without an armor of her own vitality around her.

— Kevin Brockmeier

And what I said was I'll miss you,
What I meant to say was that I love you,
What I wanted to say was that I meant what I said
I miss you like I miss my own bed
after too many nights of sleeping on couches
or hardwood floors
Or sitting silently behind the doors
Of hotel rooms became wounds
Breathing life in to this loneliness
I miss you
Like a burn victim must miss their own skin
I miss you like a sad ending
Must miss someplace new to begin
Because some say that the highway becomes a flat line
if you travel it for too long
I can't tell if that's true or false,
But I'm racing down it towards you trying to find my
Pulse.

— Shane Koyczan

I don't have to make my own bed.

— Frederik, Crown Prince Of Denmark

As time goes by the memories of sitting on the edge of a bed and reading aloud with your kid are going to be very meaningful in your own mental scrapbook.

— Gary Ross

I want my own bed, in my own apartment. Home sweet home. No place like home. Take me home, country roads. Home is where the heart is. But my heart is here. So I must be home.

— Audrey Niffenegger

But for the first time in many years, I get to sleep in my own bed every night. I haven't done that, literally, in years. It seems like such a small thing, but it is so nice.

— Linda Vester

It's a joy to work where I live, and come home and sleep in my own bed.

— Len Cariou

Evil is unspectacular and always human, and shares our bed and eats at our own table,

— Louise Penny

As a child, I always enjoyed building forts by stringing up bed sheets and clothes. I continue to be inspired by makeshift structures, including my own kids' forts and temporary architecture of all sorts.

— Janet Echelman

How would you like to die, Tyrion son of Tywin?"
"In my own bed, with a belly full of wine and a maiden's mouth around my cock, at the age of eighty," he replied.

— George R.R. Martin

But it was enough if, in my own bed, my sleep was deep and allowed my mind to relax entirely; then it would let go of the map of the place where I had fallen asleep and, when I woke in the middle of the night, since I did not know where I was, I did not even understand in the first moment who I was; all I had, in its original simplicity, was the sense of existence as it may quiver in the depths of an animal; I was more bereft than a caveman; but then the memory - not yet of the place where I was, but of several of those where I had lived and where I might have been - would come to me like help from on high to pull me out of the void from which I could not have got out on my own; I passed over centuries of civilization in one second, and the image confusedly glimpsed of oil lamps, then of wing-collar shirts, gradually recomposed my self's original features.

— Marcel Proust

They are the city scavengers, these pigs. Ugly brutes they are; having, for the most part, scanty brown backs, like the lids of old horsehair trunks: spotted with unwholesome black blotches. They have long, gaunt legs, too, and such peaked snouts, that if one of them could be persuaded to sit for his profile, nobody would recognise it for a pig's likeness. They are never attended upon, or fed, or driven, or caught, but are thrown upon their own resources in early life, and become preternaturally knowing in consequence. Every pig knows where he lives, much better than anybody could tell him. At this hour, just as evening is closing in, you will see them roaming towards bed by scores, eating their way to the last. Occasionally, some youth among them who has over-eaten himself, or has been worried by dogs, trots shrinkingly homeward, like a prodigal son: but this is a rare case: perfect self-possession and self-reliance, and immovable composure, being their foremost attributes.

— Charles Dickens

The thing I can't figure out is why I have an undeniable compulsion to clean public spaces, airplane bathrooms, restaurant flatware, hotel gyms and Chapstick containers ... yet I have no desire to make my own bed. Ever. Seriously, who made me, and where am I from?

— Rachel Nichols

Briec removed his
clothes and slipped into bed with her, wrapping his arms around
her waist and snuggling her from behind.
"Izzy?"
"That's just ridiculous," he growled.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. "It could have been
worse. I could have said Gwenvael."
"And forced me to kill my own brother.

— G.A. Aiken

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