Rug And Home Quotes & Sayings

Aaahh. Home. My place, my smells, my familiar rug under my feet, my kitchen, my Curran in the kitchen chair ... Wait a damn minute. — Ilona Andrews

Prophet's legs opened wider, pushing against the barrier of Tom's legs. "Yeah, that's right . . . let me in," Tom urged, and Prophet wanted to tell him to fuck off, but he couldn't. Not when Tom entered him with a finger. A few twists to open him, coupled with several swipes of his prostate, and Prophet was pushing his hips up to meet Tom's motions. "Good. That's what I want to see." "Fuck your good," Prophet growled, but his voice was too raw and gave away exactly what he was feeling. Tom added another finger, turned them until Prophet groaned his surrender. The sensation of Tom's fingertips brushing his gland made him shudder. He kept his hands above his head, didn't try to break Tom's grip. He'd have rug burn on his ass by the end of this, and he didn't care. Tom was here. Home. Safe. Now, so was he. "Go — S.E. Jakes

There would remain no sign of you ever having played in this house. Your childhood is going to be swept under a camel-skin rug and elevators are going to be built over the lake we once swam in. This address, as we know it, would be lost forever and we'll wake up in a box-sized room: cramped, trampled and sensationally unhappy.'
('Left from Dhakeshwari') — Kunal Sen

Ultimately, I hoped the tiny-house guy was similar to me: a sane person without a big agenda, who simply wanted a way to make sense of the world, to create a new map with a big X in the middle labeled "Home," even if that meant shrinking his world down to the size of an area rug. — Dee Williams

All I know is that the fear I have been battling all night is breaking down the door of my ignorance. As my feet slam down I feel not the hard, wet asphalt but the soft Persian rug that led to the staircase in my father's home. In the glow of lightning the dancing trees are illuminated but I see my mother in the glow of candlelight, spinning, twirling, her hair fanned out
behind her. It is falling over me, saturating my thoughts, and I cannot. I cannot let it in. — Gwenn Wright

Nothing is wrong with me? I thought. Not unclean? It's just . . . a new part of me I need to learn to control? I'd come all this way to go on my pilgrimage because I'd thought my body was trying to tell me something was wrong with it. I hadn't wanted to admit it to myself, but I'd thought I'd broken myself because of the choices I'd made, because of my actions, because I'd left my home to go to Oomza Uni. Because of guilt. The relief I felt was so all encompassing that I wanted to lie down on the rug and just sleep. Ariya — Nnedi Okorafor

Don't get me wrong - I've gone to a club. But I'd much rather be with my close friends at home or a concert, or on a trip. I'll go dancing with my grandma. She likes to cut a rug! — Zac Efron

Ty laughed, a carefree, boyish sound, and glanced to his side, distracted by what he saw. "You moved the rug."
"I kitty-cornered it."
"Why would you do that?" Ty asked, aghast.
"To see you lose your shit when you got home." Zane leaned closer, grinning evilly. "There are other things out of order too. Books not alphabetized. Coffee mug handles facing different directions." He lowered his voice to a whisper as Ty's eyes widened in horror. "The closet isn't color coded."
"You're just watching the world burn, huh?"
Zane laughed.
"God I missed you." Ty said in a rush of breath. — Abigail Roux

Perhaps they'd been conditioned by all the quarantines and blackouts, all the invisible boundaries CSIRA erected on a moment's notice. The rules changed from one second to the next, the rug could get pulled out just because the wind blew some exotic weed outside its acceptable home range. You couldn't fight something like that, you couldn't fight the wind. All you could do was adapt. People were evolving into herd animals.
Or maybe just accepting that that's what they'd always been. — Peter Watts

People are tired of liberty. They have had a surfeit of it. Liberty is no longer a chaste and austere virgin ... Today's youth are moved by other slogans ... Order, Hierarchy, Discipline. — Benito Mussolini

The act of love and the act of poetry
Are not compatible
With the reading aloud of a newspaper — Andre Breton

The Soul of the World is nourished by people's happiness. And also by unhappiness, envy, and jealousy. To realize one's Personal Legend is a person's only real obligation. All things are one. — Paulo Coelho

Well, listen, sweetheart. Boys only want one thing, of course, and guess what that means for you? Heartbreak. Pregnancy. Chlamydia, herpes, syphilis, crabs.
That's beautiful, Dad. You should set it to music. — Kristan Higgins

I was never happier than on the nights we stayed home, lying on the living room rug. We talked about classes and poetry and politics and sex. Neither of us were in love with the Iowa Writers' Workshop, but it didn't really matter because we had no place else to go. What we had was the little home we made together, our life in the ugly green duplex. We lived next door to a single mother named Nancy Tate who was generous in all matters. She would drive us to the grocery store and give us menthol cigarettes and come over late at night after her son was asleep to sit in our kitchen and drink wine and talk about Hegel and Marx. Iowa City in the eighties was never going to be Paris in the twenties, but we gave it our best shot. — Ann Patchett

Written and directed by French showman Georges Melies, 'Le Voyage' features one of the most indelible images in cinema history: the wounded Man in the Moon bleeding like a particularly runny Brie, grimacing in pain with a space capsule protruding from his right eye. — Kage Baker

LONDON. TRINITY TERM one week old. Implacable June weather. Fiona Maye, a High Court judge, at home on Sunday evening, supine on a chaise longue, staring past her stockinged feet toward the end of the room, toward a partial view of recessed bookshelves by the fireplace and, to one side, by a tall window, a tiny Renoir lithograph of a bather, bought by her thirty years ago for fifty pounds. Probably a fake. Below it, centered on a round walnut table, a blue vase. No memory of how she came by it. Nor when she last put flowers in it. The fireplace not lit in a year. Blackened raindrops falling irregularly into the grate with a ticking sound against balled-up yellowing newsprint. A Bokhara rug spread on wide polished floorboards. Looming at the edge of vision, a baby grand piano bearing silver-framed family photos on its deep black shine. On the floor by the chaise longue, within her reach, the draft of a judgment. — Ian McEwan

The most domestic cat, which has lain on a rug all her days, appears quite at home in the woods, and, by her sly and stealthy behavior, proves herself more native there than the regular inhabitants. — Henry David Thoreau

If you're a fan, you can appreciate everything I say. — Lucas Till

The night garden felt like a home, with the glittering sky for the ceiling, the bushes our rug, and the dilapidated pavilion our bed. He lit up the place like a heart-warming hearth fire. He was the walls of my sanctuary, the food for my eyes, the scent of a home. He was everything. — Weina Dai Randel

The office was different. That was the first thing Dick noticed. Not that he'd spent enough time in the Oval Office for it to feel like home. The sunburst rug was the same, and so were the paired cream colored couches, but the heavy draperies that had covered the windows were gone. The Remington bronzes of cowboys on pitching horses had been replaced by white china containers with subdued ivy topiaries. And the desk was different. It was a mess. — Jo Graham

The center had frayed like a rag rug that had been washed and walked on and shaken and hung and dried. The lines and nets of mesh which held the last jewel at the breast of the world were unraveling. Things were not holding together. The earth drew in its breath in the summer of the coming eclipse.
The boy idled along the upper corridor of this stone place which was home, sensing these things, not understanding. — Stephen King

Then I thought, Whoa. If there are no photographs, then there is no history. I'm going to get in there. I'm going to make these pictures. We need a record. — Joel Meyerowitz

Filthy tight, the dress is filthy
I'm falling flat and my arms are empty
Clear the way, better get it out of this room
A fallen woman in dancing costume — P.J. Harvey

The American conception of advertising is to arouse desires and stimulate wants, to make people dissatisfied with the old and out-of-date and by constant iteration to send them out to work harder to get the latest model-whether that model be an icebox or a rug or a new home. — Bruce Barton

George dutifully dusted the marks from the expensive rug and retired to the kitchen to await a grave and disapproving Collins, wishing with all of his boyish heart that he had applied for the stables. Cleaning stalls had to be beneficial exercise, and surely one must become accustomed to the smells...eventually. — Sarah Brazytis

All our normal tendencies are lost in the process of domestication. — Anonymous

I've always been fascinated by Picasso and how he would look at a single image through multiple perspectives and from separate moments in time. He would look at a woman's face and he would see almost a three-dimensional look even though it was a flat canvas. I thought, well why couldn't we do the same thing with a football play? — Steve Sabol

Tension fled from me. Tomorrow I would worry about Hugh d'Ambray and Andrea and
Roland, but now I was simply happy. Aaahh. Home. My place, my smells, my familiar rug under my feet, my kitchen, my Curran in the kitchen chair ... Wait a damn minute.
You! — Ilona Andrews

I really was very impressed with DMX during the whole experience on 'Romeo Must Die.' I like working with him. I liked him. And I was very impressed with the reaction of the audience when he was in the picture. — Joel Silver

Some days you go bear hunting and you get eaten. Some days you come home with a nice rug to roll around on, and bear steaks. What they don't tell you as a kid is that sometimes you get the rug and steaks, but you also get some nice scars to go with them. As a child you don't understand that you can win, but that's it's not always worth the price. Once you understand and accept that possibility you become a real grown up, and the world becomes a much more serious place. Not less fun, but once you realize what can go wrong, it's a lot scarier to go hunting "bears". — Laurell K. Hamilton

Manage me, I am a mess, swept under the rug of yesterday's home improvement, a whimsical urge tossed aside for the easy reassurance of home and comfort. I am the photograph tucked away as a book-mark, in a book left half unread, once reopened to find memories crawling back into peripheral sight, faded, creased and lonely. I long to be admired, long to be held, torn and laughed at, laughed with, like a distant relative or an old friend breathing in their last breath. I missed the moment when time collapsed and memory was erased, replaced by finicky social experiments, lost in the blur of intoxication, sucked through multi-colored bendy-straws, making way for a spinning world where hub-caps stood still, but our vision didn't. If I could leave you with only one thing, it would be small, foldable, and made from trees, with a few careless words, scribbled in blue; Take a minute to learn me, take a moment to love me, because I need your love to live,and without it, I am nothing. — Alex Gaskarth

I like my house to be unique to me. Sure, I've bought plenty of things out of a catalog, but the way I put them together in my home is special. You might have bought your sofa at a major home decorating store, but the rug you found at the flea market is so unique, it takes your room from 'carbon copy' to 'simply yours' in no time. — Nate Berkus

Maybe subconsciously I've kept activism separate from acting because it's important to me in a more profound way. — Blythe Danner

If I had only one sermon to preach it would be a sermon against pride. — Gilbert K. Chesterton

The key to happiness is under the doorstep rug. — Ljupka Cvetanova

What if in Scotland's wilds we viel'd our head, Where tempests whistle round the sordid bed; Where the rug's two-fold use we might display, By night a blanket, and a plaid by day. — Oliver Goldsmith

Then she squeezed me tighter. Her leg came up and wrapped around me. Then she kissed me too hard and our teeth banged together. I felt like a boa constrictor's dinner. — Dan Ahearn