Good Cubicle Quotes & Sayings

If you're playing a one-minute game, I could squeeze in five to six games before anybody walked by my cubicle. So I got really good at blitz, one-minute chess games. But that's kind of like the cheap chess version. — Paul Banks

I'll give you something to cry about!!
Hell, no need to get up I'm doing a good job of bawling my eyes out now. It could be that having one of the spokes from my ten speed pierce my thigh depressed me because now that tire will wobble.
"Have you learned your lesson?"
"Cry sooner because you'll stop quicker?"
**SMACK**
"Can I go for best three out of five?"
** SMACK** **SMACK**
"I'm only beating you because I care!!"
"Lucky me, I couldn't have been raised by a heartless bitch?"
**SMACK!!**
"I think I'm beginning to feel the love now ... — Neil Leckman

If you wanted to create an education environment that was directly opposed to what the brain was good at doing, you probably would design something like a classroom. If you wanted to create a business environment that was directly opposed to what the brain was good at doing, you probably would design something like a cubicle. And if you wanted to change things, you might have to tear down both and start over. — John Medina

Plenty of times I've seen writers, famous novelists and essayists, even poets, with names you'd recognize and whose work I admire, drift through these offices on one high-priced assignment or other. I have seen the anxious, weaselly lonely looks in their eyes, seen them sit at the desk we give them in a far cubicle, put their feet up and start at once to talk in loud, jokey, bluff, inviting voices, trying like everything to feel like members of the staff, holding court, acting like good guys, ready to give advice or offer opinions on anything anybody wants to know. In other words, having the time of their lives.
And who could blame them? Writers - all writers - need to belong. Only for real writers, unfortunately, their club is a club with just one member. — Richard Ford

Touching him, kissing him, was like having a fever all over again. I was on fire. My body burned. The world burned. Sparks flew. Against his mouth, I moaned.
There was a POP! and CRACK!
The smell of burned plastic filled the cubicle. We pulled apart, breathing heavily. Over his shoulder I saw thin strips of smoke wafting from the top of the ancient monitor. Good God, was this going to happen every time we kissed? — Jennifer L. Armentrout

If you sleep with one eye open are your dreams only half as good as everyone elses? — Neil Leckman

Jina Matthews, who worked at the cubicle directly beside Carlin's, wasn't having a good way, either. She was on her phone, her expression tense. She and her boyfriend had been fighting a lot lately, and it looked as if Jina was at the end of her rope. She said a few choice words, then thumbed a button on her phone. Looking across the aisle at Carlin, she made a wry face.
"It was so much more satisfying when you could slam a phone down. Pushing a button just doesn't have the same gratification factor." Her phone, set to vibrate, buzzed around on the desk as another call came in. Jina picked it up, looked at the caller ID, and jabbed the button again. "Unless it's the off button." She leaned forward and spoke to the silent phone. "Call all you want, jackass. I can't hear you," she said in a singsong falsetto. — Linda Howard