A revolution is not a bed of roses. A revolution is a struggle between the future and the past.
A hospital bed is a parked taxi with the meter running.
They're talking about banning cigarette smoking now in any place that's used by ten or more people in a week, which, I guess, means that Madonna can't even smoke in bed.
The bed comprehends our whole life, for we were born in it, we live in it, and we shall die in it
Knowing you have something good to read before bed is among the most pleasurable of sensations.
I'm so fast that last night I turned off the light switch in my hotel room and was in bed before the room was dark.
I have three phobias which, could I mute them, would make my life as slick as a sonnet, but as dull as ditch water: I hate to go to bed, I hate to get up, and I hate to be alone.
Dawn: When men of reason go to bed.
Lying in bed would be an altogether perfect and supreme experience if only one had a colored pencil long enough to draw on the ceiling.
Never go to bed angry, stay up and fight.
I used to lie in bed in my flat and imagine what would happen if there was a zombie attack.
Mighty proud I am that I am able to have a spare bed for my friends.
All men are children, and of one family. The same tale sends them all to bed, and wakes them in the morning.
How it is I know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some old couples often lie and chat over old times till nearly morning. Thus, then, in our hearts' honeymoon, lay I and Queequeg - a cosy, loving pair.
It is comforting when one has a sorrow to lie in the warmth of one's bed and there, abandoning all effort and all resistance, to bury even one's head under the cover, giving one's self up to it completely, moaning like branches in the autumn wind. But there is still a better bed, full of divine odors. It is our sweet, our profound, our impenetrable friendship.
There should be hours for necessities, not for delights; times to repair our nature with comforting repose, and not for us to waste these times.
Every morning I jump out of bed and step on a landmine. The landmine is me. After the explosion, I spent the rest of the day putting the pieces together.
I believe in a higher power and I believe in good and bad, right and wrong. You sleep in the bed you make.
I get really restless when I haven't worked for a day and a half. I have a recurring dream that people are lined up next to my bed, waiting for autographs and taking pictures of me!
Life excites me-just little, normal, everyday things. Getting out of bed. Getting dressed. Making food. I find it all exciting.
Everything from the little house was in the wagon, except the beds and tables and chairs. They did not need to take these, because Pa could always make new ones.
I want so much for my lover. At night when our beds are drawn close together I waken and see his dear yellow head on the pillow - sometimes his arm thrown over on my bed - and I kiss his hand, very softly so that it will not waken him.
If he wants breakfast in bed, tell him to sleep in the kitchen.
Every now and then, I'll run into someone who claims not to like chocolate, and while we live in a country where everyone has the right to eat what they want, I want to say for the record that I don't trust these people, that I think something is wrong with them, and that they're probably - and this must be said - total duds in bed.
The source of sexual power is curiosity, passion. You are watching its little flame die of asphyxiation. Sex does not thrive on monotony. Without feeling, inventions, moods, no surprises in bed. Sex must be mixed with tears, laughter, words, promises, scenes, jealousy, envy, all of the spices of fear, foreign travel, new faces, novels, stories, dreams, fantasies, music, dancing, opium, wine.
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