Hardwood Floor Quotes & Sayings

The sound of a boot heel striking her hardwood floor. The darkness coalesced, gained an outline. A tall, broad-shouldered figure dressed in black stepped forward. A deep voice said, "I won't let you go to Worontzoff's house, Charity. — Lisa Marie Rice

The fever, I realized, had gone. Beneath my feet, the hardwood floor felt cool on my feet, the air gentle against my itching legs. This was just the world, after all. Big, thoroughly mapped place to sell joy or buy it, hunt company or flee it, trust yourself or your friends or your instincts, stretch the hours as much as you could, and one day vanish. ("Safety Clowns") — Glen Hirshberg

She still sighed out her answer, though. "Fine. I'll go."
"Now, darlin'. I know I'm pulling you away from playing grab ass with my oldest boy on
his nice hardwood floor ... " Angie barely stopped herself from spitting out her mouthful
of coffee. "But if he's anything like his daddy, trust me, he'll still be here when you get
back. — Shelly Laurenston

He released my body, and I slumped down the wall, my butt colliding with the hardwood floor as I looked up at him with blurry vision. "What just happened?"
Zane Smirked then leaned down, offering me his massive hand. "Demonstration. You want him to kiss you like that. You're welcome. Also, next time a guy tries to kiss you who isn't Lincoln, you slap him. — Rachel Van Dyken

My little brother Paul. He owns his own floor sanding business called Silly P Hardwood Floors and hes really good. — Amy Sedaris

Calla." My mother's coaxing voice stopped me. "It is of course perfectly acceptable for Renier to call on you, but remember that you are a lady. Don't bring shame on yourself by making poor choices."
"No, of course not." I kept my eyes on the hardwood floor, thinking about Shay's kiss and how much more I'd wanted from him.
A sly smile hovered on Ren's lips when I returned to the kitchen table.
If he heard what Mom said, I'm going to kill her. — Andrea Cremer

when your little girl
asks you if she's pretty
your heart will drop like a wineglass
on the hardwood floor
part of you will want to say
of course you are, don't ever question it
and the other part
the part that is clawing at
you
will want to grab her by her shoulders
look straight into the wells of
her eyes until they echo back to you
and say
you do not have to be if you don't want to
it is not your job
both will feel right
one will feel better
she will only understand the first
when she wants to cut her hair off
or wear her brother's clothes
you will feel the words in your
mouth like marbles
you do not have to be pretty if you don't want to
it is not your job — Caitlyn Siehl

I love to vacuum. There's just something so satisfying about hearing detritus sucked up into a vacuum. Sand makes such a great sound when being vacuumed off a hardwood floor. — Rachel Nichols

And when the music died, life was always a little less bright, waiting for the next turn on the sprung, hardwood floor. — Alana Albertson

Can I help you up?"
"No," she said bitterly. "I prefer to drag myself along the hardwood floor."
"Bitch," I said, squatting to help her up. — Charlaine Harris

He pats his way around the bed and slides back in. 'Ow,' he says.
'Yes?'
'My belt. Would it be weird ... '
I'm thankful he can't see me blush. 'Of course not.' And I listen to the slap of leather as he pulls it out of his belt loops. He lays it gently on my hardwood floor.
'Um,' he says. 'Would it be weird - '
'YES.'
'Oh, piss off. I'm not talking trousers. I only want under the blankets.That breeze is horrible.' He slides underneath, and now we're lying side by side. In my narrow bed. Funny, but I never imagined my first sleepover with a guy being, well, a sleepover.
'All we need now are 'Sixteen Candles' and a game of Truth or Dare.'
He coughs. 'Wh-what?'
'The movie, pervert. I was just thinking it's been a while since I've had a sleepover.'
A pause. 'Oh. — Stephanie Perkins

He watched her through narrowed, half-closed eyes, keeping his breathing regulated so that she dismissed him to take his clothes to the laundry room. He heard her but couldn't see her as she started up the washing machine. Then she was back, meticulously wiping up her hardwood floor until it gleamed. She must have warmed some blankets because she stripped off his blanket and tucked two more around him, still muttering to herself under her breath.
He really was far gone and confused, because he was beginning to find that habit rather adorable. — Christine Feehan

When you eat, I want you to think of God, of the holiness of hands that feed us, of the provision we are given every time we eat. When you eat bread and you drink wine, I want you to think about the body and the blood every time, not just when the bread and wine show up in church, but when they show up anywhere - on a picnic table or a hardwood floor or a beach. — Shauna Niequist

He pats his way around the the bed and slides back in. "Ow," he says.
"yes?"
"My belt. Would it be weird ... "
I'm thankful he can't see me blush."Of course not." And I listen to the slap of leather, s he pulls it out of his belt loops. He lays it gently on my hardwood floor.
"Um," he says. "Would it be weird-"
"yes"
"Oh, piss off. I'm not talking trousers. I only want under the blankets. That breeze is horrible." He slides underneath, and now we're lying side-by-side. In my narrow bed. Funny, but I never never imagined my first sleepover with a guy being, well, a sleepover. — Stephanie Perkins

If you were running away from me, down a straight hallway with an oiled hardwood floor, and I had a machine gun and a pointy mustache, I still couldn't hit you with a bowling ball. But what are you doing? You should be running toward love, not away from it. — Jarod Kintz

On a nightstand in a teenager's room, a glass vase filled with violets leans precariously against a wall. The only thing saving the vase from a thousand-piece death on the hardwood floor is the groove in the nightstand's surface that catches the bottom of vase, and of course the wall itself. The violets, nearly a week old, droop in the light of a waning gibbous moon. Wrinkled petals are already piling up on the floor between the nightstand and the wall, and a girl only six days sixteen stares at the dying bouquet from her bed. — Jay Nichols

Should I try to help her? Surely I was strong enough to loosen that stubborn backpack. And, in doing so, I could make a clever comment about how cold it must be outside for her nipple to get so hard. She'd laugh and toss her head back; her long blond hair would fall off her shoulders onto her back in slow motion. Thankful for my help, she'd lift up her shirt to give me a better look at her tits before I rip her clothes off and throw her down on the dirty hardwood floor.
Shit, I gotta stop watching so much porn. - Tyler Campbell, Safe With Me, Part 1 — Shaina Richmond

When white people envision their perfect home, it always has hardwood floors. In fact, most white people would prefer a dirt floor over wall-to-wall carpeting, because to them it would have the same level of cleanliness and probably fewer germs.
White people are petrified of germs, and when they look at a carpet all they can see is everything that has ever been spilled, tracked in, or shaken loose into the carpet fibers. But more disgusting to white people is that wall-to-wall carpeting reminds them of suburban homes, motel rooms, and the horrible apartments that they have visited or lived in over the years. It has no soul. Only germs.
Hardwood floors, on the other hand, are easily cleaned and give a sense of character to a place, since they are often the original flooring in older buildings. It is a well-known white fantasy to purchase a home or apartment that has disgusting carpet and then to pull it up to reveal a beautiful hardwood floor underneath. — Christian Lander

I'm never going to be a modern gal. I love colonial. I love early American. I love a big rectangular piece of brown furniture on a hardwood floor. — Emily Procter

Lie there panning, looking, all ribs and elbows and dilated eyes. The awake floor is littered with gear and dirty clothes, blond hardwood with sealed seams, two throw-rugs, the bare waxed wood shiny in the windows' snowlight, the floor neutral, faceless, you cannot see any face in the floor, awake, lying there, faceless, blank, dilated, playing beam over floor again and again, not sure all night forever unsure you're not missing something that's right there: you lie there, awake and almost twelve, believing with all your might. — David Foster Wallace