Bench Pressing Quotes

I sat on a bench and did what, as a girl, I had done whenever I needed to calm myself: instead of pressing the button with the number 4 on it, I let myself go up to the sixth floor. That space had been empty and dark for many years, ever since the lawyer who had his office there had left, taking with him even the light bulb from the landing. When the elevator stopped, I let my breath glide into my stomach and then return slowly to my throat. As always, after a few seconds, the light in the elevator went out, too. I thought of reaching my hand out to one of the door handles: you had only to pull it and the light would return. But I didn't move and continued to send my breath deep into my body. The only sound was that of the woodworms eating into the panelled walls.

Just a few months earlier (five, six?), on a sudden impulse, I had revealed to my mother, during one of my brief visits, that as an adolescent I used to retreat to that secret place, and I brought her up there, to the top. Maybe I wanted to try to establish an intimacy that there had never been, maybe I wanted to let her know in some confused way that I had always been unhappy. But she seemed to me only amused by the fact that I had sat suspended in the void, in a dilapidated elevator. ~ Elena Ferrante

Okay, you shouldn't be able to sit up, Manny muttered. Was he? Oh, hey, check it ... And as for the doctor's second dose of surprise? Nice guy, but he was being a dumb-ass human when it came to the feeding thing. With this kind of hunger for that particular female? Tohr was frickin' Superman, capable of bench-pressing a Hummer while he juggled Smart Cars with his free hand. ~ J.R. Ward

Honestly, how could any aristocrat be fat if they carried this much clothing weight on their bodies all the time? How much food would you have to eat to gain weight? Forget the gym, he felt like he was bench-pressing a ton. And it wasn't even weight you could use to blow shit up. That he could understand hauling around. This? This was ridiculous. ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

It's not until she sits up and wipes her eyes that I realize she's crying. My words are like knives; they cut into the people I love. It will be worse if you touch her, I think, a worse lie. But I ignore this thought, shifting down the bench to put my arm around her - my daughter - and as I do, she weeps openly, pressing her face against my damp shirt. ~ Adam Haslett

By the time I got down there, Bird was standing to the left of the backstop, near the warm-up area, smiling at Brandon. It was obvious he was trying not to get caught smiling at her, that he was supposed to focus on the game.
I scooted over until I was standing behind the dugout. Jason was still messing with his gloves. I was surprised the Velcro still worked, that it hadn't worn down until all the tiny sticky teeth were gone.
"Hey, Jason," I said. "Awesome no-hitter."
I was vaguely aware of someone gasping and someone else moaning, as Jason came up off the bench fast, spun around, and stared at me like I'd morphed into something from The X-Files.
The guy who'd gasped, Chase, put one knee on the bench, so he could talk to me in a low voice and still be heard. "You'd better go."
"Why? What did I do?"
"You never talk to the pitcher when…" He shook his head. "You just never talk to the pitcher when--"
"I just wanted to congratulate him on a good game--"
"It's not over 'til it's over," Chase said.
"You jinxed me," Jason said, crouching down in the corner, pressing his palms against his forehead, like he'd been struck with a migraine headache. ~ Rachel Hawthorne

Don't talk age! Age has nothing to do with it. One of my guys who started out at my gym is 87 now, and he still does ten bench-press reps with a hundred-pound dumbbell in each hand. He's training to set a leg-pressing record. I put things in the guy's brain way back when, and now he'll never get away from it. ~ Jack LaLanne

You ask for too much, Iain," she murmured. "More than I can give."
"Do I?"
Movement against her made her pause, made her stiffen as she felt him press forward, felt his body shift until his back and shoulders were pressing indecently against her belly and his head was turned, the curve of his cheek lying on her lap.
"Can you give me this, Beth? Just one moment to lie here and close my eyes, and feel you beneath me, soft and curved?"
"And what would you find?" she asked, her voice little more than a breathless whisper.
"Solace."
Closing her eyes, she bit hard on her lip, trying not to weaken against that one word. There had been no hesitation when he said it. It was as if he'd known it - what he'd desired all along, a feeling of tranquility. Peace. Rightness.
Her hand hovered over his head, her fingers itching to touch, to run her fingers through his hair, which would be damp with snow. What picture did they make, seated on this bench, a tempest of white swirling around them as he laid his head in her lap? ~ Charlotte Featherstone