Doorbell Quotes & Sayings

Temptation leans on the doorbell, but opportunity knocks only once. — Malorie Blackman

Sit your affections, your heart and your precious time out on the doorstep without so much as making him ring the doorbell first, and he'll treat you like a doormat. Make him work a little to get next to you, and he won't stop til you're his. — Mandy Hale

His situation, insofar as he was a machine, was complex, tragic, and laughable. But the sacred part of him, his awareness, remained an unwavering band of light.
And this book is being written by a meat machine in cooperation with a machine made of metal and plastic. The plastic, incidentally, is a close relative of the gunk in Sugar Creek. And at the core of the writing meat machine is something sacred, which is an unwavering band of light.
At the core of each person who reads this book is a band of unwavering light.
My doorbell has just rung in my New York apartment. And I know what I will find when I open my front door: an unwavering band of light. — Kurt Vonnegut

The more Susan waited, the more the doorbell didn't ring. Or the phone. — Douglas Adams

Nightmares did come true. Because, after her second night of major loving with the man of her dreams, the absolute last person she ever wanted to see was her mother. Yet there she was, her small, hefty frame trundling up the stairs to Maira's front door.
She was so frozen with horror, she couldn't move until she heard the doorbell ring.
Don't answer it. Maybe she'll go away.
Well, that was just stupid. — Alisha Rai

God's Doorbell [10w]
Earth is God's doorbell,
unfortunately, half the time
nobody's home. — Beryl Dov

She opened the door within two seconds of his pressing the doorbell, letting out a stream of cats that ran around with such rapidity and randomness of motion that they assumed a liquid state of furry purringness. The exact quantity could have been as low as three or as high as one hundred eight; no one could ever tell as they were all so dangerously hyperactive. — Jasper Fforde

Don't tell me God works in mysterious ways,' Yossarian continued, hurtling on over her objection. 'There's nothing so mysterious about it. He's not working at all. He's playing. Or else He's forgotten all about us. That's the kind of God you people talk about - a country bumpkin, a clumsy, bungling, brainless, conceited, uncouth hayseed. Good God, how much reverence can you have for a Supreme Being who finds it necessary to include such phenomena as phlegm and tooth decay in His divine system of creation? What in the world was running through that warped, evil, scatological mind of His when He robbed old people of the power to control their bowel movements? Why in the world did He ever create pain?'
'Pain?' Lieutenant Scheisskopf's wife pounced upon the word victoriously. 'Pain is a useful symptom. Pain is a warning to us of bodily dangers.'
'And who created the dangers?' Yossarian demanded ... 'Why couldn't He have used a doorbell instead to notify us? — Joseph Heller

He pushed me back up against the door, slamming me against the doorbell. I heard it ring out.
"Coming!" I heard Holly say as she clicked across the floor to the front door.
"Not quite, but she's close." He chuckled, removing his hand and leaving me breathless and rosy cheeked. — Alice Clayton

The doorbell rings, and my heart flips. — Kasie West

The doorbell rang, but we all knew better than to get up. I don't know how many keys to my parent's house circulated in Montgomery. It was largely pointless as the door never seemed to be locked anyway. I wondered if my parents worried about crime, but having at least nineteen serving police officers in the family, I figured any criminal who decided to break in would probably get a standing ovation for sheer audacity. And then live to regret it. — Camilla Chafer

I was so sure I'd heard the doorbell and simultaneously certain that I hadn't. How could a smart and competent 23-year-old not be able to distinguish the edges of dreams from the tips of reality? How had the picture gone so horribly blurry that I'd looked to a dog to regain my bearings? — Julie Flygare

When the doorbell rings at three in the morning, it's never good news. — Anthony Horowitz

Anyone who says forty is the new twenty can suck it - if they can bend over enough to reach it. It's more like the new ninety, because you're now seriously pondering when Death will ring your doorbell in the form of those everyday pains and aches that now torture your once hot, tight body. — Christine Zolendz

You would think that, by sheer chance, there would come a time when you daughter's two dances would be close together, ideally near the beginning. But the dance studio makes sure this never happens, using the same computer scheduling program that the cable-TV company uses to make sure that the technician, for whom you have been waiting eleven hours, rings your doorbell only when you have just commenced pooping. — Dave Barry

Kat," Hale groaned, then fell back onto the pillows.
"Funny, I didn't hear a doorbell."
"I let myself in; hope that's okay."
Hale smiled. "Or the alarm."
She stepped inside, tossed a pocket-size bag of tools onto the bed.
"You're due for an upgrade."
Hale propped himself against the antique headboard and squinted up at her.
"She returns." He crossed his arms across his bare chest. "You know, I could be naked in here. — Ally Carter

Mr. Blue's way of death was fitting. He had been utterly corrupted by America, and I find it proper that his carotid artery should have been severed by flak from a jumbo-sized can of mentholated shave cream. Like James Joyce, who tried to bend and subjugate the ironmongery of the cosmos with words (wasn't it The Word Joyce was after?), Mr. Blue tried to undo the empyrean mysteries with Seedy and his red carpet, with his elevated alligator shoes, with the ardent push-ups he seemed so sure would make him outlast time's ravages, with his touching search for some golden pussy that would yield to his lips the elixir of eternal life. And like Joyce's Leopold Bloom, like Quixote, Mr. Blue had become the perennial mock-epic hero of his country, the salesman, the boomer who believed that at the end of his American sojourn of demeaning doorbell-ringing, of faking and fawning, he would come to the Ultimate Sale, conquer, and soar. — Frederick Exley

Roadblock #5: It's Unpredictable
By and large, human beings don't like surprises. I know that I don't. Okay, maybe I like that rare piece of unexpected good news or a letter from a friend or a thoughtful thank-you. But I'm willing to bet that people in funny hats jumping out of dark closets are responsible for more heart attacks than expressions of unbridled delight. When the doorbell rings late at night, I'm under no illusion that it's the Publisher's Clearing House Prize Patrol!
This, most likely, goes back to our caveman past when a big, exciting surprise was apt to be something like an 800-pound,snarling, saber-toothed tiger about to rip the head from our shoulders. Surprises were usually bad news. (Think about this the next time you're crouching in the dark in somebody's front hall closet with their raincoats and umbrellas.) — Paul Powers

I look at the names on the mailboxes and the bells inside number 1940 and pick out a couple of women's names and press the first one. I stand there waiting, feeling the image
build up and not thinking about what I'm going to say to her because I know
something will come to me like it always does. Nothing happens. I press the second doorbell and in a few minutes she buzzes the door, twice, and I walk into the hallway. The stairs are curved around an elevator and to the right and I go up them, not in a hurry or nothing, just taking them one at a time.
Its funny, isn't it, how the first woman didn't answer the bell or wasn't home or something and just that little chance, you understand what I mean? — Sebastian Junger

The doorbell rang before she could get to hair and makeup. She answered to Kate and Jasmine arguing about the best way to get to her house, even though it was already too late since they were, in fact, at her house. "Hey, Kris." Jasmine — K.F. Breene

The Dog Hair The dog is gone. We miss him. When the doorbell rings, no one barks. When we come home late, there is no one waiting for us. We still find his white hairs here and there around the house and on our clothes. We pick them up. We should throw them away. But they are all we have left of him. We don't throw them away. We have a wild hope - if only we collect enough of them, we will be able to put the dog back together again. — Lydia Davis

I park my bike in her driveway and ring her doorbell. I clear my throat so I don't choke on my words. Mierda, what am I gonna say to her? And why am I feeling all insecure, like I need to impress her because she'll judge me?
Nobody answers. I ring again.
Where's a servant or butler to answer the door when you need one? Just as I'm about to give up and slap myself with a big dose of what-the-fuck-do-I-think-I'm-doing, the door opens. Standing before me is an older version of Brittany. Obviously her mom. When she takes one look at me, her disappointing sneer is obvious.
"Can I help you?" she asks with an attitude. I sense either she expects me to be part of the gardening crew or someone going door-to-door harassing people. "We have a 'no soliciting policy' in this neighborhood."
"I'm, uh, not here to solicit anythin'. My name's Alex. I just wanted to know if Brittany was, uh, at home?" Oh, great. Now I'm mumbling uh's every two seconds. — Simone Elkeles

Five minutes before Julian arrived, they might be slouched in the living room
curtains drawn, dinner simmering on chafing dishes in the kitchen, everyone tugging at collars and dull-eyed with fatigue
but the instant the doorbell rang their spines would straighten, conversation would snap to life, the very wrinkles would fall from their clothes. — Donna Tartt

To Flora, the doorbell sounded like the electric chair. Not — Kate DiCamillo

Hing hang hung! the words rang faintly through his daydream like echoes of Miz Cunningham's tart little doorbell. Then he looked again at the old woman herself. Why, she was really quite wonderful - this old fat woman! In the end, she got her hands on nearly everything in the world! Just look at her window! There by the pair of old overshoes were Jamey Hankins' ice skates. There was old Walt Spoon's elk's tooth. There - his mother's own wedding ring! There was a world in the window of this remarkable old woman. And it was probable that when Miz Cunningham like an ancient barn owl fluttered and flapped to earth at last, they would take her away and pluck her open and find her belly lined with fur and feathers and the tiny mice skulls of myriad dreams. — Davis Grubb

The doorbell rang, making me and Roland jump. Nikolas opened the door to admit Chris whose good-natured smile did not falter even when he saw our grim faces. Then he saw Remy. I didn't think I had ever seen someone's eyes go that round before. Roland shoved a glass of Nate's whiskey into Chris's hand while Nikolas brought him up to speed on all he had missed. — Karen Lynch

That mama-bear, elegant-and-modest-on-the-outside, hot-as-allfuck-on-the-inside thing was ringing his doorbell. And God help him, he knew it was beyond inappropriate to be making up fuck fantasies about this woman right then but he couldn't help it. — Lauren Dane

Nowadays, if a man living in a civilized country (ha!) hears cannon blasts in his sleep, he will, of course, mistake them for thunderclaps, gun salutes on the feast day of the local patron saint, or furniture being moved by the slime-buckets living upstairs, and go right on sleeping soundly. But the ringing of the telephone, the triumphal march of the cell phone, or the doorbell, no: Those are all sounds of summons in response to which the civilzed man (ha-ha!) has no choice but to surface from the depths of slumber and answer. — Andrea Camilleri

Chutzpah' is best defined as a small boy peeing through someone's letter box, then ringing the doorbell to ask how far it went. — Maureen Lipman

Before the doorbell rings I hear the footsteps, a broken heartbeat on the paving stones, and I know that Claude is here. — Claire King

The best part was
pulling down the
shades
stuffing the doorbell
with rags
putting the phone
in the
refrigerator
and going to bed
for 3 or 4
days. and the next best
part
was
nobody ever
missed
me. — Charles Bukowski

There are moments in a woman's life when her heart flips in her chest, when the world suddenly seems uncommonly pink and perfect, when a symphony can be heard in the tinkle of a doorbell. — Julia Quinn

After dinner was served,
and the kids were done eating,
it was finally time
to go trick-or-treating!
Moms re-painted faces,
and straightened clown hats,
put wings back on fairies,
angels, and bats.

Jack-o'-lanterns were set
out on porches with care.
Their grins seemed to say,
"Knock if you dare."
Gypsies and pirates
and zombies in rags,
grabbed their bright flashlights
and trick-or-treat bags.

They walked down each lane,
avenue, and street,
rang every doorbell
and said, "Trick or treat! — Natasha Wing

If a boy pulls up and honks for her, go out and have words with him. Explain that your daughter answers to a doorbell. — James C. Dobson

If you think there are no new frontiers, watch a boy ring the front doorbell on his first date. — Olin Miller

Good God, how much reverence can you have for a Supreme Being who finds it necessary to include tooth decay in His divine system of creation? Why in the world did He ever create pain?'
'Pain?' Lieutenant Shiesskopf's wife pounced upon the word victoriously. 'Pain is a warning to us of bodily dangers.'
'And who created the dangers?' Yossarian demanded. 'Why couldn't He have used a doorbell to notify us, or one of His celestial choirs? Or a system of blue-and-red neon tubes right in the middle of each person's forehead?'
'People would certainly look silly walking around with red neon tubes right in the middle of their foreheads.'
'They certainly look beautiful now writhing in agony, don't they? — Joseph Heller

(The doorbell rang) ... I knew that Feely and Daffy would never condescend to respond to a bell ("So utterly Pavlovian," Feely said) ...
Keep warm feet and a cool head, and you'll never find yourself sneezing in bed. — Alan Bradley

We were in such good moods, we even decided to hit Todd's house for candy. Sam rang the doorbell, and when it opened, this hideous, rubber monster face roared at us. Sam screamed. Todd started laughing and took off the mask. I yelled, "Put it back on! Put it back on! Your hideousness is terrifying!"
Todd did a fake yuk-yuk-yuk at my joke. "What are you guys supposed to be? Is it Prom Night Massacre or something?"
Sam sighed at Todd's obvious stupidity. "We're zombie princesses, Todd. Can't you tell?" She stuck her arms straight out in front of her and said, "BRAINS! BRAINS!"
I patted Sam on the head and said, "Sorry, Sam. You're wasting your time with this one. — Kristin Walker

As a rule, dictatorships guarantee safe streets and terror of the doorbell. In democracy the streets may be unsafe after dark, but the most likely visitor in the early hours will be the milkman. — Adam Michnik

It's often discouraging sitting working at home, wondering whether to put the heating on, answering the doorbell to the gas board, feeling it's all utterly pointless. — Rachel Johnson

Obama's dense as a doorbell; not much going on up there - it's a wooden top. — John Lydon

I never liked to hear the doorbell ring. None of the people I liked ever turned up that way. — Jenny Offill

If you want to see how far we have not come from the cave and the woods, from the lonely and dangerous days of the prarie or the plain, witness the reaction of a modern suburban family, nearly ready for bed, when the doorbell rings or the door is rattled. They will stop where they stand, or sit bolt upright in their beds, as if a streak of pure lightning has passed through the house. Eyes wide, voices fearful, they will whisper to each other, "There's someone at the door," in a way that might make you believe they have always feared and anticipated this moment - that they have spent their lives being stalked. — Alice McDermott

The French magazine Parents says that if a baby is scared of strangers, his mother should warn him that a visitor will be coming over soon. Then, when the doorbell rings, 'Tell him that the guest is here. Take a few seconds before opening the door . . . if he doesn't cry when he sees the stranger, don't forget to congratulate him.' I hear of several cases where, upon bringing a baby home from the maternity hospital, the parents give the baby a tour of the house.9 French parents often tell babies what they're doing to them: I'm picking you up, I'm changing your nappy, I'm going to give you a bath. This isn't just to make soothing sounds; it's to convey information. And since the baby is a person like any other, parents are often quite polite about all this. (Plus it's apparently never too early to start instilling good manners.) — Pamela Druckerman

My social status leaps after decades of disqualification on grounds of radiation. The doorbell rings and there stands Vanessa Redgrave. 'Marcie,' she begins, and then goes on about social injustice in Namibia, and how we must all build a raft by late afternoon - preferably out of coconut matting. — Morrissey

measure, she brushed off Batty, too, and then Hound, and then herself, and only then did she ring the doorbell. When Iantha opened the door, she was holding a red pen and had several more stuck behind her ears and in the pocket of her shirt. "Are we interrupting?" asked Rosalind. She'd taken the little ones away to give Iantha a break, and to make up for all the afternoons Batty spent at her house, causing who knew how much chaos. "Did we come back too soon?" "No, your timing is just right. I keep getting — Jeanne Birdsall

My father was never very friendly. When I was growing up, I thought the doorbell ringing was a signal to pretend you weren't home. — Rita Rudner

The doorbell rang once more.
She grumbled. "Don't people know no one actually answers the door anymore?"
He chuckled again. "You really better get that door."
She sighed. "I don't want to let you go," she said quietly.
"You don't have to, but I'm freezing my balls off out here, and I'd really like to come inside and see you. — Elizabeth Finn

Gra was always mildly irritated by any display of decorum, or good taste, if he felt it was a direct challenge to his deepest beliefs. When I mentioned once that Connie and I had guests coming to dinner that evening who were a bit formal and stuck-up, he carefully cut out some very small pieces of paper, wrote an obscenity on each one, and then hid them round our flat in all the rooms our guests were likely to visit. Connie found one of these just ten minutes before they were due to arrive: a moment of pure panic that set off a frenzied paperchase, as we raced around the apartment trying to find them all before the doorbell rang. We missed one, which he had placed on the basin in the visitors' loo. It simply read, 'Anus'. I've always wondered whether our guests speculated why we might have put it there. — John Cleese

Kissing's a good thing, man. It's the doorbell of intimacy. — Thomas Haden Church

Oh, for goodness' sake," yawned Isabelle, "Is he really waking us up at this ungodly hour just to prove his love to you or something? Couldn't he have called? mundane men are such twits."
(Thinking its Simon when the "doorbell" of institute rings)
-Isabelle to Clary, pg.188- — Cassandra Clare

I'm speechless. But my dick has plenty to say. I'm already hard at the idea of Wes being prepped and ready for me. I drop my mouth onto his and he moans again. My tongue glides across his piercing and we're off to the horny dog races. We kiss as if there's a meteor heading straight for the Toronto metropolitan area. Wes's eager hands roam my ass while I suck on his tongue. His eagerness is like a drug, and I want hit after hit. I can feel how hard he is, even through all of our clothes. He wants me to fuck him, and he's all primed and ready? "Mmm," I moan into his mouth. Sexiest fucking thing I ever heard. That's when the doorbell rings. "Hold that thought," I say, pushing up on one arm. "Nooooo!" Wes lifts both his legs to trap me in them. "No." Kiss. "No." Kiss. "Don't even think about it." Pinning his hands to the quilt is easy, because he's horny to the point of distraction. "Stop it, baby. It's the couch delivery. We're paying seventy-five bucks for them to show up on a Saturday. — Sarina Bowen

I don't know about other writers, but for myself, to write I must be relatively quiet - it's very difficult to write with the telephone and the doorbell ringing and conversation going on; I'm not that good a writer to write through all that! — Ray Charles

[On the ringing of her doorbell or telephone:] What fresh hell is this? — Dorothy Parker

It was always a considerable annoyance to any Disc citizen with pretensions to culture that they were ruled by gods whose idea of an uplifting artistic experience was a musical doorbell.. — Terry Pratchett

You wouldn't believe that I still have the bikers with the caps to the side at my door, ringing the doorbell. — Tina Turner

I get fed up with all this nonsense of ringing people up and lighting cigarettes and answering the doorbell that passes for action in so many modern plays. — Graham Greene

I'll leave the door unlocked. Be sure to ring the doorbell before you climb in through the window. — Jarod Kintz

The doorbell rang, and I assumed it was Fran and Roger having come back because
they had forgotten something. I took my time, lacing my boots, and the buzzer became more impatient.
"I'm coming, shithead!" I yelled. Yes, I should have known better. For of course, it was not Roger or Fran. I threw open the door to find Declan Tyler standing there, looking half-insulted and half-amused.
"Got a pet name for me already?" he asked. — Sean Kennedy

As a kid I would be put to bed when my parents had guests and because I was such a show-off I would go to my mum's room, put on her nightdress and Jackie Onassis shawl, run downstairs, go outside, ring the doorbell and pretend to be one of the guests. I'd say, 'Hello, I'm Mrs. So-and-So.' — Rupert Everett

Proof? You got it! Did the devil himself pay a visit to Brooks and her sister to reinforce a message? In 1979 my sister, me, and two friends played with the Ouija. We were children and it was just another board game to play. We asked it if the Devil was real. At that point the doorbell rang so we all went to the door. Through the door chain we could see a very well-dressed man. The only thing he said was, "Is this proof enough?" He then left. After that my sister and me have never touched one since. A demon named Sebaliel — Rosemary Ellen Guiley

All I know is that my life is filled with little pockets of silence. When I put a record on the turntable, for example, there's a little interval-between the time the needle touches down on the record and the time the music actually starts-during which my heart refuses to beat. All I know is that between the rings of the telephone, between the touch of a button and the sound of the radio coming on, between the dimming of the lights at the cinema and the start of the film, between the lightning and the thunder, between the shout and the echo, between the lifting of a baton and the opening bars of a symphony, between the dropping of a stone and the plunk that comes back from the bottom of a well, between the ringing of the doorbell and the barking of the dogs I sometimes catch myself, involuntarily, listening for the sound of my mother's voice, still waiting for the tape to begin. — Robert Hellenga

I'm saying a prayer. Maybe you ought to, too. It's going to take us a miracle to get through this."
Whether he was serious or not, Claire sent the prayer up toward heaven, and she thought the others did, too. So it seemed kind of miraculous when the doorbell rang.
"At least they're getting more polite when they try to kill us," Shane said. — Rachel Caine

Come then, come with us, out into the night. Come now, America the lovesick, America the timid, the blessed, the educated, come stalk the dark backroads and stand outside the bright houses, calm as murderers in the yard, quiet as deer. Come, you slumberers, you lumps, arise from your legion of sleep and fly. Come, all you dreamers, all you zombies, all you monsters. What are you doing anyway, paying the bills, washing the dishes, waiting for the doorbell? Come on, take your keys, leave the bowl of candy on the porch, put on the suffocating mask of someone else and breathe. Be someone you don't love so much, for once. Listen: like the children, we only have one night. — Stewart O'Nan

Enjoy life while you can. Nothing's gonna happen for maybe five, ten, fifteen, twenty years. But lemme give you a piece of advice: Whenever the doorbell rings, have somebody else answer the door. — Kurt Vonnegut

That old saying about opportunity only knocking once is as archaic as the flat-earth theory and as patently untrue. Opportunity knocks all the time - and it rings your doorbell, calls you up, and sends you e-mails. — Victoria Moran

There was a stiff bell-pull instead of a doorbell that Teddy had to yank hard for any result. They could hear a faint ringing somewhere beyond the fortress-like front door. No footsteps of anyone rushing to open it. It was a house in mourning, Teddy supposed. — Kate Atkinson

Can I ask who you are, sir?"
"Yeah, I expect so," said Strike, walking past him and ringing the doorbell. Anstis's dinner invitation notwithstanding, he was not feeling sympathetic to the police just now. "Should be just about within your capabilities. — Robert Galbraith

So, whose man parts are you setting on fire?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow....
"No one. I was just telling Belle about how I need to lose my virginity."
Aaaaand, that did it. He froze, his arm dropping from Belle's shoulders as he took a not very subtle step toward the entryway. "I need to get the door."
She picked up her tulip-shaped glass, fighting a grin. "I didn't hear the doorbell. — Katie Reus

Calm down. Ghosts don't ring the doorbell. — Kelly Moran

When I'm on a break from writing, I'll log on to Amazon and eBay. The doorbell is constantly being rung by deliverymen. — Sophie Kinsella

As I pressed the doorbell button it popped off the wall and hung by two colored cords. Obviously it didn't work, so I knocked. — Elle Klass

No way you're calling Ben. We already have a plan. Were going to his house, and I'm going to ring the doorbell with some fake lab work for Chemistry, and then Taylor is going to set off his car alarm while I year through his room looking for evidence."
"Wow. Great plan, Kate. Just out of curiosity, what exactly are you planning on doing when he comes back to his room to find you knee-deep in his secret Brotherhood bullshit?" Liam spat his words at me like nails.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you have a better idea? Ooh, I know. Maybe you could call you're brother and have him light his garage on fire or something. — Lisa Roecker

Democracy means that if the doorbell rings in the early hours, it is likely to be the milkman. — Winston Churchill

The weakest being on earth can accomplish feats of strength. The frailest urchin will ring every doorbell on the street in arctic weather or hoist himself aloft to inscribe his name on a virgin monument. — Honore De Balzac

The doorbell rings and I sink into a heap on the carpet. With any luck, whoever is down there will just go away.
But I'm just starting to think nothing goes away, no matter how deep you try to bury it. — Laurie Elizabeth Flynn

Look, if I don't let Ewan in, he's going to call the police."
"Answer it," he rasped with a harsh resolve. "But when he's gone, you're coming with me, Emma. Count on it."
"Go to hell," she snapped in a breathy whisper as the doorbell rang again. — Monica Burns

Never knock on death's door. Ring the doorbell then run. He totally hates that.
- T-shirt — Darynda Jones

A visitor to Santa: Which one is Mr Banta's flat? Santa: Please come with me. The visitor is taken to the third floor. The visitor rings the bell and there is no response. He repeatedly rings the doorbell and still no one answers. Visitor: I think he is not in. Santa: Yeah, he has gone out. He'll be back in the evening. — .Santa

There is nothing like a doorbell to precipitate the potential into the kinetic. — Wallace Stegner

No," said Simon. "I know we're not much compared to you, but we don't kill our friends. We try to save them. If Heaven didn't want it that way, we ought to have been given the ability to love." He shoved his hair back, baring the Mark more fully. "No, you don't need to help me. But if you don't, there's nothing stopping me from calling you up again and again, now that I know you can't kill me. Think of it as me leaning on you Heavenly doorbell ... forever. — Cassandra Clare

I don't want to be the person who gasps in fear whenever she hears the sound of a doorbell or a phone. I just want to lose myself in these hills, in the river winding west to the city of bridges. — Mira Bartok

But if Miss Golightly remained unconscious of my existence, except as a doorbell convenience, I became, through the summer, rather an authority on hers. I discovered, from observing the trash-basket outside her door, that her regular reading consisted of tabloids and travel folders and astrological charts; that she smoked an esoteric cigarette called Picayunes; survived on cottage cheese and Melba Toast; that her vari-colored hair was somewhat self-induced. The same source made it evident that she received V-letters by the bale. They were torn into strips like bookmarks. I used occasionally to pluck myself a bookmark in passing. Remember and miss you and rain and please write and damn and goddamn were the words that recurred most often on these slips; those, and lonesome and love. — Truman Capote

Dogs have important jobs, like barking when the doorbell rings, but cats have no function in a house whatsoever. — W. Bruce Cameron

Yo momma so poor that when I rang her doorbell, she said "ding-dong. — Various

We walk around carrying Closed signs around our necks while we press Open to our chests and wonder why the doorbell never rings. — Shinji Moon

If she's really psychic," Zack said when he saw Tanisha's photo at school, "why does she need a doorbell? — Joan Bauer

What we weave in solitude is unraveled by the doorbell's ringing. — Mel Nicolai

When the doorbell rings at three o'clock in the morning its never good news — Anthony Horowitz

A bead of cold sweat dangled on my fingertip before dripping onto the doorbell. What if I got electrocuted from my wet fingers? I would die literally inches from my first high school party. And everyone would be like, oh, poor thing was so nervous, what a tragedy. Death by sweat. — Lindsey Leavitt

Quoth the doorbell with its silence, no comment at this time. — Kurt Vonnegut

Next time y'all need to find me, just rub these two wires for the doorbell. — Redman

Call it arrogance or male chauvinism, the male ego just doesn't allow a woman to participate in key issues in family. Men seldom realize that it's the housewife who has the most difficult job in the world: waking up early, preparing breakfast, getting the children ready for school, preparing lunch, cleaning up the mess at home and so much more. Even before they can some rest, the doorbell would ring and the children are back from school. Then, the routine again, and by the end of the day, they were tired. Women in the family are the last to sleep and the first to wake up. Sometimes, even during a crisis in the family or when there is a dispute, it's the lady of the house that stands rock solid to calm things down and face challenges head on. — Jagdish Joghee

The doorbell rang. "Shh-shh. The ogres are here," Val said. "They're not ogres," Ivy corrected him with a small laugh. She started for the door but Val stepped in front of it with his arms spread wide. "You can't go out there yet. Let's see if Dennis and Kathy survive their encounter first." "Val - — Elaine Levine

No, you don't need to help me. But if you don't, there's nothing stopping me from calling you up again and again, now that I know you can't kill me. Think of it as me leaning against your Heavenly doorbell ... forever. — Cassandra Clare

I was halfway up the stairs when the doorbell rang. "Dash it all!" I said. There was nothing I hated more than being interrupted when I was about to do something gratifying with chemicals. — Alan Bradley