Quotes & Sayings About Your Own Bed

A novel works it's magic by putting a reader inside another person's life. The pace is as slow as life. It's as detailed as life. It requires you, the reader, to fill in an outline of words with vivid pictures drawn subconsciously from your own life, so that the story feels more personal than the sets designed by someone else and handed over via TV or movies. Literature duplicates the experience of living in a way that nothing else can, drawing you so fully into another life that you temporarily forget you have one of your own. That is why you read it, and might even sit up in bed till early dawn, throwing your whole tomorrow out of whack, simply to find out what happens to some people who, you know perfectly well, are made up. It's why you might find yourself crying, even if you aren't the crying kind. — Barbara Kingsolver

Hey," he says.
I feel foolish for being out of breath and standing over him. The moonlight cuts a line down my chest. "Hey," I say.
"Checking on me?"
"I couldn't sleep. Scottie. She's in the bathroom." I stop talking.
"Yeah?" he says and sits up.
"She's playacting." I don't know how to say it. I don't need to say it. "She's kissing the mirror."
"Oh," he says. "I used to do some messed-up things as a kid. Still do."
I feel wide awake, which always makes me angry in the middle of the night. I'm useless without sleep. I can't get myself to go back to my own room. I sit on the end of the bed by his feet. "I'm worried about my daughters," I say. "I'm worried there's something wrong with them."
Sid rubs his eyes.
"Forget it," I say. "Sorry for waking you up."
"It's going to get worse," he says. "After your wife dies." He holds the blanket up to his chin. — Kaui Hart Hemmings

And it is a great thing to die in your own bed, though it is better still to die in your boots. — George Orwell

If you knew what was going to happen, if you knew everything that was going to happen next - if you knew in advance the consequences of your own actions - you'd be doomed. You'd be ruined as God. You'd be a stone. You'd never eat or drink or laugh or get out of bed in the morning. You'd never love anyone, ever again. You'd never dare to. — Margaret Atwood

As her time grew near, your brother took her in. His family situation was under strain, but at least she had a bed there, her own room. It was almost good enough. But really none of it was good enough, even though it was better than many get. When she began to lose consciousness, your brother had her moved to a local hospice; you flew there in the dead of night, desperate to get there in time, so that she wouldn't die alone. — Maggie Nelson

Zooey was in dreamy top form. The announcer had them off on the subject of housing developments, and the little Burke girl said she hated houses that all look alike-meaning a long row of identical 'development' houses. Zooey said they were 'nice.' He said it would be very nice to come home and be in the wrong house. To eat dinner with the wrong people by mistake, sleep in the wrong bed by mistake, and kiss everybody goodbye in the morning thinking they were your own family. He said he even wished everybody in the world looked exactly alike. He said you'd keep thinking everybody you met was your wife or your mother or father, and people would always be throwing their arms around each other wherever they went, and it would look 'very nice. — J.D. Salinger

Well," said Ash, and she got out of her own bed and came to sit beside Jules. "I've always sort of felt that you prepare yourself over the course of your whole life for the big moments, you know? But when they happen, you sometimes feel totally unready for them, or even that they're not what you thought. And that's what makes them strange. The reality is really different from the fantasy. — Meg Wolitzer

I carry this thing between us, like a weight. A good weight, in my pocket. I reach out and hold it from time to time like a wonderful secret. I will always have that. I will never feel this way about another woman, ever. My heart will be yours forever, no matter who shares your bed, no matter whose children you bear. I'm here." He tapped her chest. "And you're here." He tapped his own. — Lauren Dane

Social media is like reunion, but the catching up is done through the comfort of your own bed. Scrolling through photos and statuses are too easy to not be done. You know about their social life and where they've been last weekend. Then you wonder why they have such flawless hair and make up. How could they look so effortlessly awesome? — Marcella Purnama

What is faithfulness, anyway? Can you be unfaithful to your own feelings and faithful to someone else? Is it faithful to lie in bed night after night with someone you love but no longer desire while ardently dreaming of someone else? — Mary Gaitskill

It makes me sick, the way sadness is addicting. The way I can't stop. Sadness is familiar. It's comfortable and it's easy in a sense that it comes naturally to me. But everything else about it is hard. The way my body aches with self-hatred. The way my mind spins and spins with hopeless thoughts. The way it poisons everything I do, every relationship I have. Yet it's addicting, because I know sadness, and I know it very well. And there's a sort of comfort in that, like being home after a trip or sleeping in your own bed after being away. There's just a sense that this is where I belong. This is how it's supposed to be. — Marianna Paige

Terrific! Have you done Step Three?" He waggled his brows as he opened up the top left drawer of my dresser.
"No. Hey! Do you mind, Nosy Newton?"
"Are these panties?" he asked, holding up two of my thongs. "Because they look like dental floss to me."
Oh my God. My almost father-in-law was digging around in my lingerie. Embarrassment bloomed in my face. "Ruadan, get out of my underwear!"
"Fine," he said, closing the left drawer and opening the right one. "Oh! Lookie here!"
"If you touch that box," I said menacingly, "I will cut off your head with your own swords. And I'm not talking about the one on your shoulders."
He laughed, shutting the drawer. "You won't need a vibrator anymore. You've got Patrick." His gaze slid toward the dresser. "Unless you have different toys in there. Nipple clamps?"
"I ... what ... oh God." I fell onto the bed, curled into the fetal position, and covered my face. — Michele Bardsley

It is vice to go to bed with someone you are not married to or have someone of your own sex or to get money for having sex with someone who does not appeal to you-incidentally, the basis of half the marriages of my generation. — Gore Vidal

I've broken a lot of my own rules tonight," he said. "Not because I feel sorry for you. I want you. From the moment I first saw you staring at the painting, I wanted you. Come to bed, gorgeous, and claim your fantasy. — Sara Jane Stone

Everyone would believe her because at the back of their minds, everyone thinks that twin brothers and sisters grow up magnetized towards each other, the prince at the foot of Rapunzel's tower before the tower is even built, the lover you can get at all the fucking time, the one who is you but a girl, or you but a boy, whose bed you know as well as your own. How could you endure that without falling in love? The question is, were they born in love with each other, these twins, or did it blossom? At any rate it's already happened, the onlookers agree. It must have. Ask them when they fell. The brother and sister say no, no, it's nothing like that, but what they mean is that they can't remember when. — Helen Oyeyemi

My parents kept a small cabin the mountains. It was a simple thing, just four walls, and very dark inside. A heavy felt curtain blotted out whatever light made it through the canopy of huge pines and down into the cabin's only window. There was a queen-size bed in there, an armchair, and a wood-burning stove. It wasn't an old cabin. I think my parents built it in the seventies from a kit. In a few spots the wood beams were branded with the word HOME-RITE. But the spirit of the place me think of simpler times, olden days, yore, or whenever it was that people rarely spoke except to say there was a store coming or the berries were poisonous or whatnot, the bare essentials. It was deadly quiet up there. You could hear your own heart beating if you listened. I loved it, or at least I thought I ought to love it - I've never been very clear on that distinction. — Ottessa Moshfegh

If the devil ain't messin with you, he's already got you. If you is waitin to clean up your own life before you get out and help somebody else, you may as well take off your shoes and crawl back in the bed 'cause it ain't never gon' happen. Jesus don't need no help from no perfect saints. If He did, He wouldn't a' gone up yonder and left us down here in charge. — Ron Hall

Her eyes rounded. "They don't open until eleven."
"Unless you're me, and you strike up a conversation with the prep cook who starts work at seven."
"Ah."
"Get your mind out of the gutter," he said, uncurling his forefinger from around his own cup to point it at her. "His name is George and he has a wife and three kids."
"My mind's not in the gutter!" Well, not since she woke from a twenty-minute midnight doze during which she'd imagined herself stretched out on her bed, Gage standing at its foot, slowing stripping off his clothes.
He grinned at her, then reached into his front pocket to pull free a slim camera. Still juggling his coffee, he managed to bring the viewfinder to his eye and snap a shot. "I'll call it 'Guilty as Charged.'"
"That's an invasion of privacy," she said, frowning at him.
"I think that blush indicates that you've been mentally invading mine."
"Gage! — Christie Ridgway

Literature duplicates the experience of living in a way that nothing else can, drawing you so fully into another life that you temporarily forget you have one of your own. That is why you read it, and might even sit up in bed till early dawn, trowing your whole tomorrow out of whack, simply to find out what happens to some people who, you know perfectly well, are made up. — Barbara Kingsolve

I had always liked staying the night with other families, having your own room with a freshly made bed, full of unfamiliar objects, with a towel and a washcloth nicely laid out, and from there straight into the heart of family life, despite there always being, no matter whom I visited, an uncomfortable side, because even though people always try to keep existing tensions in the background whenever guests are present, the tensions are still noticeable, and you can never know if it is your presence that has caused them or whether they are just there and indeed your presence is helping to suppress them. A third possibility is, of course, that all these tensions were just tensions that lived their own lives in my head. — Karl Ove Knausgard

I settled back on the bed with my own heavy sigh. The point of this reluctant outpouring of all my crap isn't to make you feel guilty. I don't need anyone to be concerned for me. That's my point. Will that change one day? I don't know. I'm not asking it to. But Rhian, when you trusted James with all you baggage you decided that day that you were asking someone to be concerned. You were tired of being alone. Will staying with him be hard? Yes. Will fighting your fears every day be difficult? Yes. But how he feels for you ... jeez, Rhian ... that's worth it. And telling yourself that it's okay to run way from him to be alone just because I'm alone and okay with it, is bullshit. I'm alone because I just am. You're alone because you made a choice. And it's the wrong fucking choice. — Samantha Young

For mankind you've made your wintry bed.
A shipwreck of your own mortality — Marie Symeou

It felt natural, somehow, to be beside him - natural and reassuring - like coming home after a long journey to finally sleep in your own bed. — Mereda Hart Farynyk

It's like a feeling. Like that feeling you get when you've been away from home for far too long, and you're tired and hungry, and just fucking spent, and your car is low on gas and it's getting dark, and you're sick of cheap hotels and cheap diners and every song on the radio and every thought in your head, and all you want to do is crawl into your own bed and fall into a dead sleep . . . and then you turn the last corner, and there it is. Home. All your troubles melt away with one big sigh, and you hit the gas hard, because you just can't stay away one second longer. — J.T. Geissinger

Hey. Not sure what's going on-gonna go find out. Be careful and don't do anything stupid. Don't come after me-your better on your own. See you. F
I sat on the edge of the bed, holding the note.
Okay, so Fang had looked up vague in the dictionary and this was what it had said to write. — James Patterson

My life has been charmed in the sense that I've met some extraordinary people. But at the end of the day, when you go home and you go to bed, and if you're on your own, you never think of yourself in that way. I'm sure not even people like Angelina Jolie think like that. — Marie Helvin

It is the custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day. If you could keep awake (but of course you can't) you would see your own mother doing this, and you would find it very interesting to watch her. It is quite like tidying up drawers. You would see her on her knees, I expect, lingering humorously over some of your contents, wondering where on earth you had picked this thing up, making discoveries sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to her cheek as if it were as nice as a kitten, and hurriedly stowing that out of sight. When you wake in the morning, the naughtinesses and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of your mind; and on the top, beautifully aired, are spread out prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on. — J.M. Barrie

Not really. I'm tired and I'd like to go to bed."
"At last, we agree on something." He moved toward her.
"Oh, no, you don't. I'm saving myself for my future husband."
"Thank you."
"It won't be you," she told him doggedly. "I'm not crazy enough to think that. You aren't a marrying man, remember? You don't want commitment."
"I don't know what I want anymore," he muttered.
"Well, I do," she said. "I want to go home."
"To a lonely apartment in Chicago?"
"It won't be lonely long," she assured him. "I'm going to start my very own lonely hearts chapter."
"Over my dead body."
"Nobody would want to meet over your old dead body. — Diana Palmer

Continue to contaminate your own bed, and you will one night suffocate in your own waste. - Chief Seattle Suqwamish and Duwamish T — Kent Nerburn

No man prefers to sleep two in a bed. In fact, you would a good deal rather not sleep with your own brother. I don't know how it is, but people like to be private when they are sleeping. — Herman Melville

But before, not so long ago - my own rose from prom still OK on the mirror, dried but not a corpse - you were just Ed Slaterton, jocky hero, handsome in the student newspaper and star of a million strands of gossip. Now Annette was a person to me, standing right there, and not just an oh-my-God-have-you-heard, and I tried to put it together in my head, the print and the negative, the boyfriend and the celebrity shadow, like Theodora Sire sat next to me in history, borrowing pencils, but was still a movie star above my bed. Because as you came out of the dark to me, you were the boy I was kissing and wanted to kiss more, back to find me at a party like anybody might do, but you were Ed Slaterton too, and not the cad you are now, but just Ed Slaterton, co-captain, with a beer in your hand and Jillian Beach on your arm. — Daniel Handler

What do you do when strength is called for and you have no strength? You evoke a power beyond your own and use stamina you did not know you had. You open your eyes in the morning grateful that you can see the sunlight of yet another day. You draw yourself to the edge of the bed and then put one foot in front of the other and keep going. You weep with those who gently close the eyes of the dead, and somehow, from the salt of your tears, comes endurance for them and for you. You pour out that resurgence to minister to the living. — Catherine Marshall

You have to embark on your own quest to discover why you are on this planet, what makes you get out of bed in the morning, and what you uniquely contribute to the world. — Danny Silk

He woke up alone. Lilah had rocked his world once, twice ... he leaned over the bed to county empty condom wrappers.. three times, and then she'd
Walked off before dawn.
That was usually his role. "My own fault," he told the mutt, who was sitting on his chest. "I was easy."
"Arf," the dog said in complete agreement, and licked Brady's chin.
"You're one to judge," Brady said in disgust. "If someone even thinks about petting you, you drop and expose your kibble and bits. No soldier worth his salt does that. "You're like a damn dog."
"Arf."
"Okay, good point," he said, shaking his head. "You are a dog. And so, apparently, am I. — Jill Shalvis

With a room of his own, a room at the top, he could proffer a temporary refuge to some lovely, fatigued, world-weary, sophisticated, black-turtlenecked, heavily-eyelinered girl he might lure up the stairs into his newspaper-strewn boudoir and onto his Indian-bedspreaded bed with the promise of artistic talk about the craft of writing, and the throes and torments of creation, and the need for integrity, and the temptations of selling out, and the nobility of resisting such temptations, and so forth. A promise offered with a hint of self-mockery in case such a girl might think he was pompous and cocksure and full of himself. Which he was, because at that age you have to be that way in order to crawl out of bed in the morning and sustain your faith in your own illusory potential for the next twelve hours of being awake. — Margaret Atwood

Stay, Sophie. Looking at you makes me feel better." Cody shot a more energetic grin at his employer and friend.

"Why?" she asked.

"You're hot, babe." Cody shot a wicked smirk at his boss.

"Cody, find your own hot woman to drool over." A war of looks began between the two men, half sneers and mockingly threatening scowls.

"Can't. Stuck in this damn bed. So I'll borrow yours. — Lauren Smith

If you let a bully come in your front yard, he'll be on your porch the next day and the day after that he'll rape your wife in your own bed. — Lyndon B. Johnson

Then I shall tell you the truthful answers to the questions you asked, about my own intentions and motivations. They are not so simple."...
He cocked an eyebrow and his cobalt eyes took on a playful sparkle.
"If I were to avow that you are my immortal life's great passion, that I would give up immortality itself to be at your side and in your bed, you would not believe me, n'est-ce pas? — Suzanne Johnson

Letter 90


When I used to sit up late at night writing in our bed, I was calmed by the sound of your breathing. I would hold my breath and watch your chest rise and fall. I felt like a blind man soothed by the scents and sounds of a garden.

As I lie here in bed writing this letter, there is only the sound of my own breathing.

When I hold my breath, there is only silence.

Tonight I feel like a miner being lowered farther and farther into a dark mine shaft, longing for the scents and the sounds of a garden. — Gregory Colbert

A light which lives on what the flames devour,
a grey landscape surrounding me with scorch,
a crucifixion by a single wound,
a sky and earth that darken by each hour,
a sob of blood whose red ribbon adorns
a lyre without a pulse, and oils the torch,
a tide which stuns and strands me on the reef,
a scorpion scrambling, stinging in my chest--
this is the wreath of love, this bed of thorns
is where I dream of you stealing my rest,
haunting these sunken ribs cargoed with grief.
I sought the peak of prudence, but I found
the hemlock-brimming valley of your heart,
and my own thirst for bitter truth and art.

- Stigmata of Love — Federico Garcia Lorca

To live is to hold your child, your own flesh, your very blood, in your arms. To see her smile and wrap five tiny fingers around just one of yours. To live is to hold your wife close to you as you lie in bed and listen to her breathe -- to fall asleep, one against the other, fitted as if you were made for each other, and then awaked in the dawn when she turns to you and whispers your name. To live is to walk your land, knowing every tree and footpath and foxhole, and come home to the smell of a pot of stew, boiling over the fire. Home, wife, children. That is what it is to live. — N. Gemini Sasson

There is nothing wrong with going to bed with someone of your own sex. People should be very free with sex
they should draw the line at goats. — Elton John

If all that Americans want is security, they can go to prison. They'll have enough to eat, a bed and a roof over their heads. But if an American wants to preserve his dignity and his equality as a human being, he must not bow his neck to any dictatorial government. — Dwight D. Eisenhower

Last night me and Kate we laid in bed talking about getting out, Packing up our bags, maybe heading south. I'm thirty-five, we got a boy of our own now. Last night I sat him up behind the wheel and said, Son, take a good look around, This is your hometown. — Bruce Springsteen

Go back to your berth."
The lightning had ceased, but her eyes sparked with a fire all their own. "But I-"
"You're not safe here." He wrenched open the door to the ladies' cabin and waved her through it. "Go to bed, Miss Turner."
Yes, go to bed, he thought, as she wordlessly swept through the door and he drew it shut behind her. Go to your bed, before I sweep you off to mine. — Tessa Dare

Fear is not shaking, knowing that you are going to be harmed. Fear is not sweating profusely because you can't do anything else. Fear is not hiding under your bed or under your sheets or in your closet because you know the monsters are trying to find you. Fear is not having nightmares about these monsters because you know you cannot escape them. Fear is not anything I have experienced in my sixteen years of life. Fear is the feeling that a block of ice has been dropped into your stomach and it's slowly melting sending poison coursing through your veins, rooting you to where you stand. Fear is knowing that there is nothing you can do about your current situation. You can't run or hide or escape even in your dreams. Fear is not the knowledge that you're going to be hurt, but the knowledge that you can do nothing to stop what is coming. Fear is learning that the person you love most has been dying for you over and over again because they value your life over their own. — Annie Ortiz

Contaminate your bed and you will one night suffocate in your own waste. — Chief Seattle

And as if he had read her thoughts, the old man murmured, 'What a blessing it is to die in your own bed, under your own roof, with your family surrounding you, full of the knowledge that you have lived as thoroughly as you wanted to. — Anita Rau Badami

On occasion, it occurs to adults that they are allowed to do all the things that being a child prevented them from doing. But those desires change when you're not looking. There was a time when your favorite color transferred from purple to blue to whatever shade it is when you realize having a favorite color is a trite personality crutch, an unstable cultivation of quirk and a possible cry for help. You just don't notice the time of your own metamorphosis. Until you do. Every once in a while time dissolves and you remember what you liked as a kid. You jump on your hotel bed, order dessert first, decide to put every piece of jewelry you own on your body and leave the house. Why? Because you can. Because you're the boss. Because ... Ooooh. Shiny. — Sloane Crosley

Chilling out on the bed in your hotel room watching television, while wearing your own pajamas, is sometimes the best part of a vacation. — Laura Marano

Always the eyes watching you and the voice enveloping you. Asleep or awake, working or eating, indoors or out of doors, in the bath or in bed - no escape. Nothing was your own except the few cubic centimetres inside your skull. The — George Orwell

That was the big joke, wasn't it? The answer to the riddle: There was no one up there in Heaven, making sure the accounts came out right. I'd solved it, hadn't I? Cracked the code? It was all just a joke. The god inside my brother's head was just his disease. My mother had knelt every night and prayed to her own steepled hands. Your baby died because of ... because of no particular reason at all. Your wife left you because you sucked all the oxygen out of the room, so you pretended she was the one in bed with you while you screwed your girlfriend and her boyfriend hid in the closet, watching. — Wally Lamb

You made your own bed, and now curse others for putting you there. — Wesley Chu

The man peered through the doorway - a blond bearded man with steel blue eyes, who first considered her holding Niall's sword, and then Niall in her bed. She couldn't believe he would grin at them. The heathen. His friend was sick and could be dying and Gunnolf was grinning?
What kind of a friend did that?
"I should have known you would be in a lass' bed while I have been searching for you everywhere. Not to mention trying to locate our horses, and the lass we should be finding. Is the woman protecting you with your own sword, mon?" Gunnolf laughed.
"He was wounded and is now feverish. There is naught to jest about," Anora said harshly.
Gunnolf laughed again. "I hope you plan to wed the lass, Niall. She appears to be just the one for you. Every mon needs a woman who will fight to protect him. — Terry Spear

Make sure that when you touch the other person, all your five senses are working, because sex has a life of its own. The moment you begin, you're no longer in control; it takes control of you. And whatever you bring to it, your fears, your desires, your sensibility will remain. That's why people become impotent. When you have sex, take with you to bed only love and your senses, all five of them. Only then will you experience communion with God. — Paulo Coelho

Because you're right. I want to control you, darlin'. Not in the way your fucking ex did, in a way that makes you come apart." A hot pulse of need shoots through me, igniting me with his words. He leans in closer and I have to tilt my head back to keep eye contact. "I want to fucking claim you. Tie you to my goddamn bed and force you to submit to me." He presses his mouth to the shell of my ear and I don't fight it, I wait. Wait for everything and more. "I want to do dirty things to you, Kenz. Things only dirty girls enjoy. I want to push every one of your limits so no man will ever be able to make you come like I do." His hot breath moves over my ear and I can't help the shiver that rolls through me. "I. Want. To. Own. You." He pulls back when he's finished. Both of our breathing thick with need. Holy shit. How do you respond to that? — River Savage

I don't want to be viewed as a womaniser or whatever. I don't like going crazy crazy, I like having fun but it's nice to wake up in your own bed, isn't it? — Harry Styles

The past is like a great stone that lies on the bed of a river, hidden from view but shaping the currents of the water as it flows by. You cannot read the currents in the river of your own life, and navigate them safely, if you do not understand what causes them. You must know your past, for it will shape your future. — Derdriu In Viking Warrior By Judson Roberts

How funny is it that so many professors labeled Tea Partiers as terrorists, while kissing the asses of real, bona fide terrorists? It's not funny, really. But it's the result of a simple equation: One is cool, and the other isn't. Own a gun and keep it by your bed in your remote farmhouse? You're a redneck. Purchase guns that end up killing a judge? Priceless. As long as you cling to cool, progressive beliefs that deem America evil, whatever you do is cool. And if you do it under a big fuzzy 'fro? Even cooler. Hell, if you 'fro is big enough, you could nuke an orphanage and still get tenure. — Greg Gutfeld

Commune with your own heart on your bed and be still. — Maimonides

Tiredness turns any place into your own bed! — Mehmet Murat Ildan

The whites, too, shall pass - perhaps sooner than other tribes. Continue to contaminate your own bed, and you might suffocate in your own waste. — Chief Seattle

But insensate Time is nothing if not cruel and heartless. It corrodes then destroys, so that the man you literally and figuratively looked up to with your chubby face, who scooped you up to cross the street and patted you on the head to laughter, will later look through you from a crooked hospital bed then blindly up at you while wearing makeup in a bargain casket. The people who now surround you generating warmth will disappear leaving only an empty chill; the body you own and the brain it houses will malfunction. And sometimes, especially in Boxing, a twenty four year old can become a man overnight. — Sergio De La Pava

Mr. Evans?" I called. "A moment of your time?"
He looked at me as if he'd never seen me before. "Do I know you?"
"My name is Dina. I own the bed-and-breakfast."
He glanced past me at the old house sitting at the mouth of the subdivision. "That monstrosity?"
Aren't you sweet? "Yes. — Ilona Andrews

It's funny how bed and pillows and covers can change a conversation. Words turn quiet and you mean more and say less. It's like you can build your own little world, Population: 2. — Robin Benway

In a 2011 TED Talk in San Francisco, author and speaker Mel Robbins talked about how the chances that you are you are about 1 in 400 trillion. (Yes, that's a four hundred followed by twelve zeros.) This takes into account the chance of your parents meeting out of all the people on the planet, the chance of them reproducing, the chance of you being born at the exact moment that you were, and every other wildly improbable factor that goes into each individual person. The whole point of her crazy calculation was that we should take the sheer improbability of our own existence as a kick in the butt to get out of bed in the morning. — Sophia Amoruso

I knew it! I knew you'd hate my body!" She slammed her hands on her hips, marched over to the bed, and glared down at him. "Well, for your information, mister, all those cute little sex kittens in your past might have had perfect bodies, but they don't know a lepton from a proton,and if you think that I'm going to stand here and let you judge me by the size of my hips and because my belly's not flat, then you're in for a rude awakening." She jabbed her finger at him. "This is the way a grown woman looks, buster! This body was designed by God to be functional, not to be stared at by some hormonally imbalanced jock who can only get aroused by women who still own Barbie dolls"
"Damn. Now I've got to gag you." With one swift motion, he pulled her down on the bed, rolled on top of her, and covered her lips with his own. — Susan Elizabeth Phillips

Our father came to sleep in our house that night. He carried a small suitcase with a black mourning suit and a pair of polished shoes. Corrigan stopped him as he made his way up the stairs. 'Where d'you think you're going?'Our father gripped the bannister. His hands were liverspotted and I could see him trembling in his pause. 'That's not your room,' sad Corrigan. Our father tottered on the stairs. He took another step up. 'Don't,' said my brother. His voice was clear, full, confidant. Our father stood stunned. He climbed one more step and then turned, descended, looked around, lost.
'My own sons,' he said.
We made a bed for him on a sofa in the living room, but even then Corrigan refused to stay under the same roof; he went walking in the direction of the city center and I wondered what alley he might be found in later that night, what fist he might walk into, whose bottle he might climb down inside. — Colum McCann

If you love home - and even if you don't - there is nothing quite as cozy, as comfortable, as delightful, as that first week back. That week, even the things that would irritate you - the alarm waahing from some car at three in the morning; the pigeons who come to clutter and cluck on the windowsill behind your bed when you're trying to sleep in - seem instead reminders of your own permanence, of how life, your life, will always graciously allow you to step back inside of it, no matter how far you have gone away from it or how long you have left it. — Hanya Yanagihara

You know what, you need to stay out of my bedroom. You have your own."
He smiled. "I know I do. I see it quite often. I just prefer your bed. It smells better."
I made a face. "It smells better? What does your bed smell like? Regret and bad taste? — Jennifer L. Armentrout

Please do it your own way.
Do it in the mornings when your mind is cold
Do it in the evenings when everything is sold.
Do it in the springtime when springtime isn't there
Do it in the winter
We know winter well
Do it on very hot days
Try doing it in hell.
Trade bed for a pencil
Trade sorrow for a page
No work it out your own way
Have good luck at your age. — Ernest Hemingway,

Emily looked over at Courtney. He was still asleep.
For a long time she had thought that if you loved anyone you had to tell him everything: go to him and confess as in the dream; there could be no secrets. But now in the dark of early morning with the copper bottle cold against her fee she felt that this desire to tell all was simply an evasion of responsibility, a weakness in wanting to push on to the person you love something that is your own responsibility to solve. It would be easier for her to tell Courtney all about Abe, to come to him as he sat at this desk in the chill little workroom and confess, to hand the responsibility for her ambivalence to him, to let him settle the problem of her puny conscience for her.
But I know, she thought, lying there beside him on Madame Pedroti's lumpy bed, that if I love Courtney that is the last thing I must do. If I love Courtney he must never know. — Madeleine L'Engle

Madlen came to sit beside her on the bed. "Lady Queen," she said with her own particular brand of rough gentleness. "It is not the job of the child to protect her mother. It's the mother's job to protect the child. By allowing your mother to protect you, you gave her a gift. Do you understand me? — Kristin Cashore

Stigmata of Love
A light which lives on what the flames devour,
a grey landscape surrounding me with scorch,
a crucifixion by a single wound,
a sky and earth that darken by each hour,
a sob of blood whose red ribbon adorns
a lyre without a pulse, and oils the torch,
a tide which stuns and strands me on the reef,
a scorpion scrambling, stinging in my chest
this is the wreath of love, this bed of thorns
is where I dream of you stealing my rest,
haunting these sunken ribs cargoed with grief.
I sought the peak of prudence, but I found
the hemlock-brimming valley of your heart,
and my own thirst for bitter truth and art. — Federico Garcia Lorca

What's your version of the perfect guy?"
"I guess I'd like someone who proves he cares by his actions instead of just saying it all the time."
"That's reasonable."
"And I'd like someone who has his own life, too. You know I work a lot of hours at the hospital, and I like what I do. I imagine I'd come to resent a guy who expects me to work a nine-to-five schedule just because it fits his needs."
"Anything else?"
"But he still has to be - " she cut herself off.
"Good in bed? — Tami Lund

Authors often say that their novels are like their children, and you want your novel, just like your children, to reflect well on you. When it goes out into the world, you hope that it will make you proud. But like a parent, an author must learn that her novel has needs of its own, and they are not the same as the author's.
Yes, you want your son's behavior toward women to reflect a loving relationship with his mother. However, if a woman is compelled to think about that relationship whenever they're in bed together, something has gone very very wrong. — Howard Mittelmark

Never marry a beautiful woman. Worship them if you must, go to bed with them if you can - by all means, everyone should have carnal knowledge of physical perfection at least once in their life - but when it comes to marriage, it's a losing proposition. You will never stop feeling like a gatecrasher at your own party. Instead of feeling lucky, you will spend your life on edge, waiting for the other stiletto to fall and puncture your heart like a bullet. — Anonymous

One day Mom came to my hospital room and sat down on the edge of the bed, facing me. I could already see tears forming in the corners of her eye. She said she had something to tell me. Whatever she was about to say was hard for her to get out. Her voice was noticeably shaky and her chin quivered as she spoke.
"Noah, I've got to leave and get back to work. And besides, I am helping you too much. You need to be doing more on your own." She couldn't hold it back at all and by the time she finished the second sentence the tears were streaming down her rosy cheeks.
After a few deep breaths, she continued, "But your dad is here, and you know Dad, he's not that helpful." We both laughed at that as she leaned forward on the bed and grabbed my hand. I told her that I understood and that yes, it was probably best because Dad would help but not too much. — Noah Galloway

In the struggle to remain a complete person and to love from her fullness instead of her inadequacy a woman may appear hard. She may feel her early conditioning tugging her in the direction of surrender, but she ought to remember that she was originally loved for herself; she ought to hang on to herself and not find herself nagging, helpless, irritable and trapped. Perhaps I am not old enough yet to promise that the self-reliant woman is always loved, but she cannot be lonely as long as there are people in the world who need her joy and her strength, but certainly in my experience it has always been so. Lovers who are free to go when they are restless always come back; lovers who are free to change remain interesting. The bitter animosity and obscenity of divorce is unknown where individuals have not become Siamese twins. A lover who comes to your bed of his own accord is more likely to sleep with his arms around you all night than a lover who has nowhere else to sleep. — Germaine Greer

On coins, on stamps, on the covers of books, on banners, on posters, and on the wrapping of a cigarette packet - everywhere. Always the eyes watching you and the voice enveloping you. Asleep or awake, working or eating, indoors or out of doors, in the bath or in bed - no escape. Nothing was your own except the few cubic centimeters inside your skull. — George Orwell

I can't function here anymore. I mean in life: I can't function in this life. I'm no better off than when I was in bed last night, with one difference: when I was in my own bed - or my mom's - I could do something about it; now that I'm here I can't do anything. I can't ride my bike to the Brooklyn Bridge; I can't take a whole bunch of pills and go for the good sleep; the only thing I can do is crush my head in the toilet seat, and I still don't even know if that would work. They take away your options and all you can do is live, and it's just like Humble said: I'm not afraid of dying; I'm afraid of living. I was afraid before, but I'm afraid even more now that I'm a public joke. The teachers are going to hear from the students. They'll think I'm trying to make an excuse for bad work. — Ned Vizzini

Oh? And what was I to say? I beg your pardon, Lord Wriothesly, but your wife seems to have acquired a distinct liking for my husband's cock. Would you mind kindly retrieving her to your own bed? — Ashley March

As time goes by the memories of sitting on the edge of a bed and reading aloud with your kid are going to be very meaningful in your own mental scrapbook. — Gary Ross

You know, if you're caught with an ounce of cocaine, the chances are good you're going to go to jail. If it happens repeatedly, you may go to jail for the rest of your life. But evidently, if you launder nearly a billion dollars for drug cartels and violate our international sanctions, your company pays a fine and you go home and sleep in your own bed at night, every single individual associated with this. I think that's fundamentally wrong. — Elizabeth Warren

Let me be clear, Ginger, since you insist on talking in circles. I want you underneath me in my bed. I want to be buried inside you so deep that I have to remind you of your own name. And I want those motherfuckers leering at you from the other side of the bar to smell me on you for a week afterward. — Tessa Bailey

Before you are fully aware of anything else, you are aware whether you are awakening in your own bed. — Roger Zelazny

Have you ever noticed that however uncomfortable you might have been when you first went to bed - the room too hot or too cold; the pillows not quite right; the mattress lumpy; the sheets scratchy by the time you should get up, your bed has transformed itself into the Platonic ideal of beds? The room is cool, the bed is soft, and the pillow may as well have been God's Own Headrest. The transformation inevitably happens, of course, when you're obligated to get up and out, when nothing sounds better than hunkering down in a pile of cool cotton. — Chloe Neill

I will give you two pieces of advice. Invest as much in yourself as you can; you are your own best asset by far. Then follow your passion; you want to be really excited to get out of bed every morning. — Warren Buffett

That's one thing I like about you, Sarah Booth. You put your own personal style on a room. I'd call this boudoir pigsty. Yes sir, any man would find this an enticin' little love nest, if he didn't break his neck tryin' to get to the bed. — Carolyn Haines

And remember, sometimes our dreams appear where and when we least expect it. Sometimes, just sometimes, you can even find them waiting in your own bed when you open your eyes. (Esther) — Sherrilyn Kenyon

Of course, when you fall out of love, it's rarely about just one failure or one betrayal, is it? ...
How does it happen? All those things you once loved about each other are replaced by other things that remind you of something you hate until you're always setting each other off, and what you share is a battleground. In the end, the failure turns out to be less about sex - which surprises most men - and more about loss of respect. One morning your partner looks at you across the bed and wonders at the waywardness of her own heart - how, she asks herself, can she feel such disdain for someone she once felt such love? — Frederick Weisel

Zooey said ... It would be very nice to come home and be in the wrong house. To eat dinner with the wrong people by mistake, sleep in the wrong bed by mistake, and kiss everybody good-bye in the morning thinking they were your own family. — J.D. Salinger

Always eyes watching you and the voice enveloping you. Asleep or awake, indoors or out of doors, in the bath or bed- no escape. Nothing was your own except the few cubic centimeters in your skull. — George Orwell

Stop crying. Stop sitting in the dark counting out all your individual feelings about how sad and lonely you are. Wake up ( ... ) You're not the only person in this world who doesn't want to get out of bed in the morning ( ... ) You can be whoever the hell you want to be now ( ... ) So make a choice. Make a choice and stop wasting everyone's time. Stop eating your own time. Okay? — Tahereh Mafi

I want all kinds of things. First I want to tie you up in my bed with my belt. Then I want to cut off your clothes and fuck you in every hole you have. I also want to come on you and rub it into your skin and lick your pussy until you scream at me to stop because if you come one more time you'll die. Then I want to do it again. I want to own you, Sophie. — Joanna Wylde

I still love you," he says, "but I have to go my own way." "So you want to break up?" I ask, trembling. "I guess so," he says. I fall to the floor, like a woman in the twelfth century fainting at the sight of a hanging in her town square. Later, my mother comes home from a party and finds me catatonic, lying across the bed, surrounded by pictures of him and me, the mittens he bought me at Christmas folded beneath my cheek. I am crippled by what feels like sadness but what I will later diagnose as embarrassment. She tells me this is a great excuse: to take time for myself, to cry a bunch, to eat only carbohydrates slathered in cheese. "You will find," she says, "that there's a certain grace to having your heart broken." I will use this line many times in the years to come, giving it as a gift to anyone who needs it. — Lena Dunham

The important things in life always happened by accident. At fifteen she didn't know much, in fact, with each passing year she was a lot less clear about most things. But this much she did know. You could worry yourself sick trying to be a better person, spend a thousand sleepless nights figuring out how to live clean and decent and honest, you could make a plan and bolt it in place, kneel by your bed every night and swear to God you'd stick to it, hell, you could go to church and promise properly. You could cross your heart seven times with your eyes tight shut, cut your thumb and squeeze it and pen solemn vows on a rock with your own blood then throw it in the river at the stroke of midnight. And then, out of the black beyond, like a hawk on a rat, some nameless catastrophe would swoop into your life and turn everything upside down and inside out forever. — Nicholas Evans

I followed him down the hall and into his room. He closed the door and tossed my dirty clothes into his hamper. "Don't do that! I'll take them home and wash them," I tried to grab for them but Caeden grabbed my hands instead.
"It's fine," he kissed the side of my mouth while I squirmed in his grasp.
"Caeden, your mom doesn't need to clean my dirty clothes."
"It's not a problem. Besides," he said huskily in my ear, "my mom doesn't do my laundry. I do my own, just like a big boy."
I laughed.
"And you know what else?" his lips brushed my ear.
"What?"
"I even make my own bed. — Micalea Smeltzer

Grab your cock, McKay," Trav rasped. "Squeeze it, beat it, jerk it, fucking grab it and get off!" Mackey was as rough with himself as Trav was with him, and a new smacking sound filled the room. "Fuckin' Trav!" Time stopped and Mackey's entire body bowed painfully off the bed. His legs shot out straight and his toes curled, and Trav spread his thighs with force and shoved inside one more time. The room turned black and every muscle from his cock to his taint to his own empty asshole clenched painfully as he poured himself into Mackey Sanders, and Mackey's groan could probably be heard across the hall. Trav — Anonymous

Most of my poetry lies beyond the SF field, yet here I am corralled into 'SF poetry' as part of this poetry weekend. Of course, some might say, 'you've made your own bed - now you must lie in it!' But, while fully accepting that dictum, I'm not yet quite prepared to lie down ... — Brian Aldiss