Ceiling Quotes

I was standing amid floor-to-ceiling shelves of books in wonder and awe when my view of stories suddenly and forever changed. There were enormous piles of books lying in corners. Books covered the walls. Books even lined the staircases as you went up from one floor to the next. It was as if this used bookstore was not just a place for selling used books; it was like the infrastructure itself was made up of books. There were books to hold more books, stories built out of stories.

I was standing in Daedalus Books in Charlottesville, Virginia, and I had recently read Mortimer J. Adler's How to Read a Book. I was alive with the desire to read. But at that particular moment, my glee turned to horror. For whatever reason, the truth of the numbers suddenly hit me. The year before, I had read about thirty books. For me, that was a new record. But then I started counting. I was in my early twenties, and with any luck I'd live at least fifty more years. At that rate, I'd have about 1,500 books in me, give or take.

There were more books than that on the single wall I was staring at.

That's when I had a realization of my mortality. My desire outpaced reality. I simply didn't have the life to read what I wanted to read.

Suddenly my choices in that bookstore became a profound act of deciding. The Latin root of the word decide - cise or cide - is to "cut off' or "kill." The idea is that to choose anything means to kill off other options you m ~ Justin Whitmel Earley

I gazed back up the dome of the heavens painted on the ceiling above. It was only then that I noticed somethings else in the painted sky, directly above the bed. The sun, moon and stars were positioned in swirls around some object in the centre, like angels clustered round the throne of God. But this was no throne, nor was it God. [Vincent] ~ Karen Maitland

I'm OK with being single, but I'm not OK when the time comes where I have to move my furniture around and to change the high ceiling light balls ... ~ Hiroko Sakai

I think," I say, shifting my gaze to the ceiling so I don't have to experience the torment of saying this directly to another human being, "Mitch might … have … thoughts …"

It's right about here that I get tripped up.

"Um," Arthur says after a long time, "well. I think so too. I mean, I always assumed so. Maybe on occasion he doesn't precisely give off that vibe, but just because he's subtle about having thoughts doesn't mean - ~ Hannah Johnson

This was a little house, with a ceiling that kept getting higher and higher, a hot place with no windows. This was anger. ~ Helen Oyeyemi

Wait," he said slowly. "So, they were, uh, preoccupied long enough to allow for a flood that made their bathtub collapse through the ceiling?"
"It appears that way."
"That's some serious stamina," Jonah murmured under his breath. ~ Kimberly Kincaid

Raising the debt ceiling is not additional spending. It is simply saying, you, the United States of America, can continue to borrow the money you need to pay the bills you have already rung up. ~ Jay Carney

We had stayed up all night my friends and I beneath mosque lamps hanging from the ceiling. Their brass domes were filigreed, starred like our souls; just as, again like our souls, they were illuminated by the imprisoned brilliance of an electric heart. On the opulent oriental rugs, we had crushed our ancestral lethargy, arguing all the way to the final frontiers of logic and blackening reams of paper with delirious writings. ~ Filippo Tommaso Marinetti

The Healing spells on his chest were certainly earning their keep tonight. Sullivan got to his feet. The lack of noise from the courtyard indicated that his team had gotten all the mechanical men. "Thanks."

Toru just grunted a noncommittal response as he lifted the feed tray to check the condition of his borrowed machine gun. They didn't see the final robot inside until it turned on its eye and illuminated the Iron Guard in blue light.

Sullivan's Spike reversed gravity, and the gigantic machine fell upward to hit the steel beams in the ceiling. Sullivan cut his Power and the robot dropped. It crashed hard into the floor where it lay twitching and kicking. The two of them riddled the mechanical man with bullets until the light died and it lay still in a spreading puddle of oil.

"Normally, this would be the part where you thank me for returning the favor and saving your life."

"Yes. Normally… If we were court ladies instead of warriors," Toru answered. "Shall we continue onward or do you wish to stop and discuss your feelings over tea?"

Sullivan looked forward to the day that the two of them would be able to finish their fight. "Let's go. ~ Larry Correia

The president says we need to raise the debt ceiling because America pays its bills. No if we paid our bills we wouldn't have all this debt. The reason we have to raise the debt ceiling is because we can't pay our bills and we have to borrow money because we don't have any money to pay our bills. ~ Peter Schiff

My daughter loves to cook. At first, I found myself making her be really neat and precise. Then I realized it's OK if things get all over the floor and counters and ceiling. We're making memories. ~ Kimberly Schlapman

I tell Dylan I have to go to the bathroom. I shut the door and try to pee, but my dick's already sticking straight up at the ceiling. Great. I'm sure she caught that minor detail. We haven't even kissed yet. I shake my head and do my best to pee. I pull my pants back up, trying to make my hard-on less obvious. I stare at myself in the mirror and splash cold water on my face to calm down. My face flushed.
I concentrate on one critical thing. Last, Gray. You've got to make it last. No two pumps, you're done. Don't be that guy. You're stronger than that.
Think sports.
Try to name every candy bar you can.
Think about anything but what her body feel like, because as soon as you let yourself go there, It's over.
Enough with the pep talk. I take a deep breath. This is it. It's what you were born to do. ~ Katie Kacvinsky

Jane and Mr. Nobley entered the great hall, the ceiling dazzling with thousands of real candles that put fire into the white dresses and cravats. Five musicians were seated on a dais--a cello and two violins (or maybe a viola?), a harpsichord, and some kind of wind instrument. From keys and strings, they coaxed a grand prelude to the minuet. Jane looked at everything, smiling at the amusement park novelty of it all. She looked at Mr. Nobley. He was beaming at her. At last.
"You are stunning," he said, and every inch of him seemed to swear that it was true.
"Oh," she said.
He kissed her gloved fingers. He was still smiling. There was something different about him tonight, and she couldn't place what it was. Some new plot twist, she presumed. She was eager to roll around in all the plot she could on her last night, though once or twice her eyes strayed to spot Martin.
Mr. Nobley stood opposite her in a line of ten men. She watched Amelia and Captain East perform the figures. They held each other's gazes, they smiled with the elation of new love. All very convincing.
Poor Amelia, thought Jane.
It was a bit cruel, now that she thought about it, all these actors who made women fall in love with them. Amelia seemed so tenderhearted, and Miss Charming and her heaving breasts so delighted with this world. Jane caught sight of a very striking Colonel Andrews who, now that she watched him dance, might just be gay.
Jane felt a thrumming of foreboding. ~ Shannon Hale

There was a profound silence, abruptly broken by an enormously loud rumble from George's stomach. Plaster didn't actually fall from the ceiling, but it was close. ~ Jonathan Stroud

Dauntless traitors crowded the hallway; the Erudite crowd the execution room, but there, they have made a path for me already. Silently they study me as I walk to the metal table in the center of the room. Jeanine stands a few steps away. The scratches on her face show through hastily applied makeup. She doesn't look at me.

Four cameras dangle from the ceiling, one at each corner of the table. I sit down first, wipe my hands off on my pants, and then lie down.

The table is cold. Frigid, seeping into my skin, into my bones. Appropriate, perhaps, because that is what will happen to my body when all the life leaves it; it will become cold and heavy, heavier than I have ever been. As for the rest of me, I am not sure. Some people believe that I will go nowhere, and maybe they're right, but maybe they're not. Such speculations are no longer useful to me anyway.

Peter slips an electrode beneath the collar of my shirt and presses it to my chest, right over my heart. He then attaches a wire to the electrode and switches on the heart monitor. I hear my heartbeat, fast and strong. Soon, where that steady rhythm was, there will be nothing.

And then rising from within me is a single thought:

I don't want to die.

All those times Tobias scolded me for risking my life, I never took him seriously. I believed that I wanted to be with my parents and for all of this to be over. I was sure I wanted to emulate their self-sacrifice. ~ Veronica Roth

Can you tell me how a meltdown feels?"

She tilted her head to stare at the ceiling. "Itchy. And bad. You get so mad at yourself, because you know the thing that set you off isn't worth the reaction you're having, but you can't control it. It's like . . . knocking over a cup of tea. It goes everywhere, staining as it spreads, but you can't take it back. You just have to get over yourself and mop up the mess. ~ Julia Day

I had a dream, in 1985, I believe, when a friend I'd gone to school with was sick - one of the first people I knew who'd gotten the AIDS virus. I had a dream of him in his bedroom with an angel crashing through the ceiling. I wrote a poem called 'Angels in America.' I've never looked at the poem since the day I wrote it. ~ Tony Kushner

We've removed the ceiling above our dreams. There are no more impossible dreams. ~ Jesse Jackson

In architecture volume can be seen to be either a portion of space contained and defined by wall, floor and ceiling or roof planes or a quantity of space displaced by the mass of the building. ~ Francis D.K. Ching

We have a high ceiling. We're still young. We're still learning coach's system and we're still learning how to play hard every night. I think that's been a bad habit of ours the last few years. It's a habit that's hard to shake, too. I think if we keep pushing, we'll be alright this season. ~ Andrew Bogut

The next minute or so was spent howling on the ceiling . Imp No.1 joined in, but he wasn't really feeling it. It shouldn't be "Who do we hate?", he thought, it really should be "whom", but this probably wasn't a good time to bring that up. ~ Eoin Colfer

She went to the window and looked out. The ground fell away to a branch where willows burned lime green in the sunset. Dark little birds kept crossing the fields to the west like heralds of some coming dread. Below the branch stood the frame of an outhouse from which the planks had been stripped for firewood and there hung from the ceiling a hornetnest like a gross paper egg. The tinker returned from the cart with a lantern ~ Cormac McCarthy

This conversation" - Dez rapped her knuckles against the Formica table- "is over."
"Be careful, Dez," Jimmy stated earnestly.
"And don't sleep with him the first night," Vinny warned. "We know what a slut you can be."
Dez turned to Sal. "Do you have anything to add to this bullshit?"
"Yeah." Sal looked down from the ceiling he'd been staring at. "Based on the structure of this building, if we removed that pillar back there, we could take out this whole block."
Dez sighed. ~ Shelly Laurenston

You love her," Teddy observed quietly. Henry replied with an uncharacteristic lack of irony: "Yes."
Teddy's eyes shifted to the plaster interlacing that decorated the ceiling in curlicues. "Lord, you never make it easy, do you."
"No. ~ Anna Godbersen

Billy walked into a hall where though it was windowless there was not only light but shafts of it, ajut from the ceiling, each starting at a random point in the unbroken surface and crazy-pillaring down in random crosshatched directions, as if the room were nostalgic for moonbeams it had never seen and grew its own simulacra. He walked through and under those interlaced fat fingers of imagined light toward a waiting thing. ~ China Mieville

I never saw a sky like the sky over Dorrego - so vast, so black, with stars in an infinite array of size and brilliance. Maybe it seemed vast because the Earth didn't get in the way: the countryside around Dorrego is flat, there are no big cities to blot out the stars with their own clouds of gas, their artificial starlight. (Cities have a terrible tendency to try and imitate starlight, you only have to see them from a plane.) …
Before Dorrego, I had always thought of the sky as a black screen on which a handful of scattered stars twinkled vaguely, but were no more enthralling than the ceiling of the Cine Opera. Dorrego revealed the other sky, the boundless dome that sends you rushing to a dictionary for synonyms for 'infinite'; stars that clustered, not into constellations, but into galaxies; stars like swarms of bees which suggested not stillness or permanence but movement, the trail of something, of someone that passed just now, a moment ago, when you weren't looking. A sky that seemed to suddenly reveal the meaning of all things: Man's need to create language to describe it, geography to explain his place within it, biology to remind him that he is a newcomer in this universe, and history, because everything is written in the sky above Dorrego. ~ Marcelo Figueras

You might think about putting some heavy-duty hooks into the ceiling joists and beams so that you can have a rope ladder, or a small swing inside your house. ~ Paula Yates

Agnes shut her eyes, clenched her fists, opened her mouth and screamed.

It started low. Plaster dust drifted down from the ceiling. The prisms on the chandelier chimed gently as they shook.
It rose, passing quickly through the mysterious pitch at fourteen cycles per second where the human spirit begins to feel distinctly uncomfortable about the universe and the place in it of the bowels. Small items around the Opera House vibrated off shelves and smashed on the floor.

The note climbed, rang like a bell, climbed again. In the Pit, all the violin strings snapped, one by one.
As the tone rose, the crystal prisms shook in the chandelier. In the bar, champagne corks fired a salvo. Ice jingled and shattered in its bucket. A line of wine-glasses joined in the chorus, blurred around the rims, and then exploded like hazardous thistledown with attitude.

There were harmonics and echoes that caused strange effects. In the dressing-rooms the No. 3 greasepaint melted. Mirrors cracked, filling the ballet school with a million fractured images.
Dust rose, insects fell. In the stones of the Opera House tiny particles of quartz danced briefly...

Then there was silence, broken by the occasional thud and tinkle.
Nanny grinned.
'Ah,' she said, 'now the opera's over. ~ Terry Pratchett

At present, however, with his aching head and queasy stomach, Sebastian was feeling exceedingly resistible. Or if not that, then resistant. Aphrodite herself could descend from the ceiling, floating on a bloody clamshell, naked but for a few well-placed flowers, and he'd likely puke at her feet.

No, no, she ought to be completely naked. If he was going to prove the existence of a goddess, right here in this room, she was damned well going to be naked.

He'd still puke on her feet, though. ~ Julia Quinn

What is that?" I asked, pointing at the ceiling.
Part of me didn't expect Aiden to answer, but he did. "It's Phoebe's symbol."
"Phoebe? Obviously you don't mean a Charmed one."
He snorted. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

I quit my day job the day my daughter was born. I remember flying to Cleveland and hitting a thunderstorm, which caused the plane to lose pressure, and the oxygen masks fell from the ceiling. We felt the plane dropping; the pilot was taking it down to regain cabin pressure. My heart was in my stomach. I found out after landing that her mom was in labor. I did the show and came back to New York. By the time I walked into the hospital, my daughter was being born. She was waiting for me. She's a sweet daddy's girl. She's premed. She has her own pie company. She works for Habitat for Humanity. ~ J. B. Smoove

If your ceiling is falling down, don't you call someone in? I apply the same principle to myself. ~ Carmen Dell'Orefice

It looks as though it got into God's desk after school and nicked off with every single nasty toy confiscated from the fallen angels. It writhes towards me along the ceiling, various spiked parts of it clicking and clattering against the stone. It's in no hurry. It's probably waited a thousand years for some dumbass Earthman to come along and wake it up. ~ Adrian Tchaikovsky

I was splayed on my bed in sweats, staring at the ceiling, when suddenly I gave birth to The Idea: one area of the country club would be filled with gold bamboo chairs, architecturally arranged orchids and roses, and antique lace table linens. Violins would serenade the guests as they feasted on cold tenderloin and sipped champagne. Martha Stewart would be present in spirit and declare, "This is my daughter, whom I love. In her I am well pleased. ~ Ree Drummond

And here it was, the great and terrible ten, slamming me again and again as I lay still and alone in my bed staring at the ceiling, the waves tossing me against the rocks then pulling me back out to sea so they could launch me again into the jagged face of the cliff, leaving me floating faceup on the water, undrowned. ~ John Green

Kaltain unleashed the last of her shadowfire, tipping her face to the ceiling, toward a sky she'd never see again.
She took every wall and every column. As she brought it all crashing and crumbling around them, Kaltain smiled, and at last burned herself into ash on a phantom wind. ~ Sarah J. Maas

London was beginning to illuminate herself against the night. Electric lights sizzled and jagged in the main thoroughfares, gas-lamps in the side streets glimmered a canary gold or green. The sky was a crimson battlefield of spring, but London was not afraid. Her smoke mitigated the splendour, and the clouds down Oxford Street were a delicately painted ceiling, which adorned while it did not distract. ~ E. M. Forster

Sometimes it's just lying in bed and staring at the ceiling listening to the same song over and over again as it slowly loses its meaning. Sometimes it's how people go mad because they couldn't tame the darkness that was growing within them over time. Some days it's a girl waking up without her soul. Some nights it's a boy falling asleep with his spirit crushed. Sometimes it's someone wanting to lose themselves to a person, but instead, they push that person away.

Solitude only becomes a prison when you do not love yourself. And even if you do love yourself it's still a very dangerous thing, and the very benefits of it are the stars shining in its purest darkness.

Solitude isn't always pretty but also are the truths that we find within ourselves when we learn to find solace in it. ~ Juansen Dizon

Overhead the sky was dull and cloudless, a bland impassive blue, more the interior ceiling of some deep irrevocable psychosis than the storm-filled celestial sphere he had known during the previous days. ~ J.G. Ballard

In the summer of 1988, my father took me up to look at the remains of our home, the dream house that he'd built. It was my first time since our family left four years earlier. Political and obscene graffiti covered the half-torn walls. There was no ceiling and surprisingly no floor: the parquet, the stone, the marble, all looted. ~ Rabih Alameddine

Dear Camryn,

I never wanted it to be this way. I wanted to tell you these things myself, but I was afraid. I was afraid that if I told you out loud that I loved you, that what we had together would die with me. The truth is that I knew in Kansas that you were the one. I've loved you since that day when I first looked up into your eyes as you glared down at me from over the top of that bus seat. Maybe I didn't know it then, but I knew something had happened to me in that moment and I could never let you go.

I have never lived the way I lived during my short time with you. For the first time in my life, I've felt whole, alive, free. You were the missing piece of my soul, the breath in my lungs, the blood in my veins. I think that if past lives are real then we have been lovers in every single one of them. I've known you for a short time, but I feel like I've known you forever.

I want you to know that even in death I'll always remember you. I'll always love you. I wish that things could've turned out differently. I thought of you many nights on the road. I stared up at the ceiling in the motels and pictured what our life might be like together if I had lived. I even got all mushy and thought of you in a wedding dress and even with a mini me in your belly. You know, I always heard that sex is great when you're pregnant. ;-)

But I'm sorry that I had to leave you, Camryn. I'm so sorry…I wish the story of Orpheus and Eurydice was real ~ J.A. Redmerski

That's the problem with life. You never get enough time to stare at your ceiling and try to figure out what's going on. ~ Leila Sales

Wake every morning with the same feeling. Live up high and fly on top of the ceiling. I just know that I'm on my way. It doesn't matter to me if I'm chasing the clouds away. North or South, East or West I live my life to the fullest. ~ Ana Claudia Antunes

says- Last night, I lay in bed looking up at the stars in the sky and thought to myself, Where the heck is the ceiling? ~ Mike Gregory

If I'm doing something I do like to take it to the limit. I've got a high ceiling. A wide threshold for seeing what those boundaries are for myself. I'm very resilient inside. I find things that I like and do and boy, I do like to stick to them. I'm not necessarily a guy who gets addicted to more of certain things, but if I find something I like to do, I like to stick to it. ~ Matthew McConaughey

Sleeping on the Ceiling
It is so peaceful on the ceiling!
It is the Place de la Concorde.
The little crystal chandelier
is off, the fountain is in the dark.
Not a soul is in the park.
Below, where the wallpaper is peeling,
the Jardin des Plantes has locked its gates.
Those photographs are animals.
The mighty flowers and foliage rustle;
under the leaves the insects tunnel.
We must go under the wallpaper
to meet the insect-gladiator,
to battle with a net and trident,
and leave the fountain and the square.
But oh, that we could sleep up there ... ~ Elizabeth Bishop

I feel it's a responsibility for anyone who breaks through a certain ceiling ... to send the elevator back down and give others a helpful lift. ~ Kevin Spacey

What I saw next stopped me dead in my tracks. Books. Not just one or two dozen, but hundreds of them. In crates. In piles on the floor. In bookcases that stretched from floor to ceiling and lined the entire room. I turned around and around in a slow circle, feeling as if I'd just stumbled into Ali Baba's cave. I was breathless, close to tears, and positively dizzy with greed. ~ Jennifer Donnelly

Maybe that was why she couldn't cry, she realized, staring dry-eyed at the ceiling. Because what was the point in crying when there was no one there to comfort you? And what was worse, when you couldn't even comfort yourself? ~ Cassandra Clare

Risk assessment is the new religion, the Big Babies'equivalent of the apotropaic ritual, the haruspices, the chicken entrails and the goat on the altar. Where our ancestors looked up at the stars, and spoke with the gods, and went off upon the great and dangerous adventures which would return them to their communities as adults, we, adorned not with swords and quivers but with all the tentative apparatus of our intelligence and our carefulness, look upwards and see, not gods, but improperly secured overhead lighting, untrimmed branches, loose cables, inadequately fastened false ceiling partitions; and we decide not, after all, to go. It is, after all, too dangerous. ~ Michael Bywater

Mom, do you have pot hanging from the ceiling? ~ Tara Sivec

Each night I lie awake and stare up at the stars and think, what the hell happened to my ceiling. ~ Robert Paul

It is surprising how little narrow walls and a low ceiling matter, when the roof of the soul has suddenly been raised. ~ Edith Wharton

This is the ultimate chicken and the egg situation. The chicken: Women will tear down the external barriers once we achieve leadership roles ... The egg: We need to eliminate the external barriers to get women into those roles in the first place. Both sides are right. ~ Sheryl Sandberg

My jersey hanging from the ceiling is going to be a symbol of the hard work of the people I played with. ~ Mark Messier

He stretches his legs out underneath the table and checks Facebook on his phone. It tells him things he doesn't need to know about people he hasn't seen in years. He absorbs their aggressively worded opinions and quasi-political hate-speak. He sees a photograph of his ex-girlfriend with her new boyfriend smiling at a picnic and he realises, with a strange cascade of emptiness, that she is pregnant and wearing an engagement ring. The comments are jubilant. He reads every word before he forces himself to put his phone down. A loneliness descends. He feels its familiar talons grabbing him violently out of his chair and hanging him, swinging, up by the ceiling. Pete ~ Kate Tempest

He first saw her in a ray of sunshine. She was dancing and singing in a forest clearing, her golden hair sparkling as it swirled around her. Her voice was the very essence of a happy, sunny day distilled into song. She was as weightless on her toes as golden motes in a drowsy beam, floating their way up to the ceiling. ~ Liz Braswell

I'm attached to my children with whatever flaws they have, and if some glorious angel broke through the living room ceiling and offered to exchange them for other, better children, I'd cling to my kids and pray away this specter. ~ Andrew Solomon

A big cigar was jammed in the corner of his wide mouth. Blue-gray smoke wafted to the ceiling rafters, curling around the big wagon-wheel chandelier like ghostly tendrils. ~ Kymber C. Hawke

We know the road of lack of recognition, of people telling us that we can't headline a movie because black women don't translate overseas, that every time we try to break the glass ceiling, people say no, people push back. And it's everything that people don't see out there. ~ Viola Davis

Talent sets the floor, character sets the ceiling ~ Bill Belichick

Long periods of languor, indolence and staring at the ceiling are needed by any creative person in order to develop ideas. ~ Tom Hodgkinson

I am the unseen. For centuries I have been here, beneath this great city, this metropolis. I know your language. I know all languages ... My cave is broad and cool. The sun cannot send its heat down here. The damp soil is rich and fragrant. I turn softly on my back and place my eight legs to the cave ceiling. Then, I listen. I am the spider. I see sound. I feel taste. I hear touch. I spin this story. This is the story I've spun. ~ Nnedi Okorafor

The greenhouse was made entirely of glass. Its ceiling reached five stories high, tall enough to fit a variety of fruit-bearing trees and vines. Butterflies flitted between sparkling flowers. Honeybees collected pollen for their hive, which conveniently drip honey right into glass jars. And watermelons, root beer melons, and orangeade melons grew along trellises. ~ Suzanne Selfors

You'll never even catch me doing that 'soft atheist' thing of very softly singing along or just mouthing the words, looking down at a hymn sheet every few seconds to check the words. To state the obvious, as an atheist, the hymn sheet is no use to me. So I just stand there, looking straight ahead or up at the ceiling, and do nothing. ~ John Niven

My earth is somebody's ceiling ~ Sara Bareilles

When you're the sane brother of a schizophrenic identical twin, the tricky thing about saving yourself is the blood it leaves on your hands
the little inconvenience of the look-alike corpse at your feet. And if you're into both survival of the fittest and being your brother's keeper
if you've promised your dying mother
then say so long to sleep and hello to the middle of the night. Grab a book or a beer. Get used to Letterman's gap-toothed smile of the absurd, or the view of the bedroom ceiling, or the indifference of random selection. Take it from a godless insomniac. Take it from the uncrazy twin
the guy who beat the biochemical rap. ~ Wally Lamb

Pale blue. A vast empty expanse of it lay between them and the searing white disk hovering overhead. Nothing else. It could have been painted there, ripped from a paper ceiling, proving they didn't exist. None of it did. Best to lean back in the seat and feel the wind and hope to catch sight of something, an eagle, a cloud, a slight incline, a tumble weed, a curve in the highway. ~ V.S. Kemanis

And suddenly I was lying on the floor looking up at the ceiling, my face numb. At least, numb until the adrenaline vanished and pain flooded into every nerve of my skull. I blinked away stars and Tweety Birds, to see Dec and Abe standing above me and looking down, both of their faces frozen in different ways:
DECLAN / ABE
Worry / Worry
Shock / Shock
Anger / Mortification
Rage / Guilt
hating seeing loved one hurt / hating having hurt a friend
about to go Hulk-like / wanting to run, but standing his ground ~ Sean Kennedy

I deal with long blank stretches of empty boredom by laying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, imagining situations in which I might die. Apparently, Sherlock deals with it by microwaving shoes. ~ Eva Morgan

And of course there was the loss of women, some of whom he still woke up aching for. He'd study their remnants alone at night - slips of paper bearing old phone numbers. Photographs. A mitten. In bed he would stare at the ceiling, trying to seize on the exact feeling of a particular woman's head on his chest. It's weight, the smell of her hair. ~ Jonathan Goldstein

Jane leaned back against the counter and stared at the ceiling. At the traditional location of God, no matter what the planet. ~ C.J. Cherryh

Then all at once he´d hear his own voice enunciating clearly and firmly, feel its reverberance along the walls and ceiling, feel ears growing tense, men and women leaning forward in their chairs, see the rows of faces quite clearly, the groups of people who couldn´t find seats crowding at the doors. Phrases like `protest, massaction, united working-class of this country and the world, revolution´, would light up the eyes and faces under him like the glare of a bonfire. ~ John Dos Passos

She had come to analysis because she was, as she put it, "ruining her children." ... "But you are so frustrating," she said. "I want you to take something away from me, and you keep giving it back." And what, I asked, was that "something" she wanted to give away? "The pain. The crazy," she said. She said there was a little shrine, somewhere in the north of Brazil. The land was dry, the town impossibly poor, but people would travel for hundreds of miles to get there, to leave candles, gifts, and ex- voto offerings thanking the saint for answered prayers, for healing, for having rescued them from distress. "I bring you my worries. I bring you my tears. I bring you the dreams I have. I want to leave them here. I want to hang them on your wall and return home healed. But everything I give to you, you give back. You say, like you just said, 'What is this "something" you want to give away?' " Years later I looked it up, the shrine. There were many like the one my Brazilian patient had described. One of them was a kind of cave or grotto, where pilgrims would leave little body parts carved from wood or wax: a foot, a breast, a head. From time to time the priest collected the wax objects and melted them down, making candles to be sold to other pilgrims. The walls and ceiling of the shrine were black with candle smoke and crowded with these suspended offerings. I think now that my Brazilian patient managed at least to give that away, the conjured image of a blackened shrine, hung with ~ DeSales Harrison

I have never heard a dancer asking for advice about how to stay focused on her footwork, or a painter complaining about the dull day-to-day task of painting. What task worth doing isn't worth daily effort? Do you think Michelangelo was having fun the whole time he was on his back painting the Sistine Chapel's ceiling. ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

The moonlight on the water outside the chamber window throws the reflection of ripples onto the whitewashed ceiling of the room, so they look as if they are underwater, floating with Melusina in the fountain. But I know that they are both gone from me, and our water mother is singing them on their journey down the sweet river to the deep springs of home. ~ Philippa Gregory

My daughter could do and be anything, without having to fight to get through the glass ceiling. Without having it be so extraordinary. If my daughter went to produce a soundtrack for a movie, there would be nothing extraordinary about a girl doing it. When I did it, it was highly unusual. ~ Ronee Blakley

Uncle Mort glanced at Pandora, then back at the Juniors. "Okay, kids. Brace yourselves. And try not to yell too much."
Elysia's hand tensed on Lex's arm. "I hate it when he says that," she whispered.
Uncle Mort gave them a sympathetic smile. "Remember that old chestnut about the wickedest Grim of all time?"
He pounded on the roof. Grotton's head popped down through the ceiling, a snaky grin stretching from ear to ear.
The screams were so loud, Dora nearly drove into a tree ~ Gina Damico

Gregori strutted toward the door. "I'm too sexy for my cape, too sexy for my fangs. Too sexy." He whirled in a circle, then struck a disco pose with a hand pointing at the ceiling. "Too sexy!" He left with a flourish of his cape. ~ Kerrelyn Sparks

I pour upward through the long dark tunnel of the spout. I am a funnel of smoke, a whirlwind of fire. I open myself and multiply, swelling into a great cloud over the boy's head. I press a thousand smoky hands against the stone ceiling of the cave. I roll a thousand fiery eyes and stretch a thousand glittering legs. I unfold and unfold and unfold. How good it feels to be out! I crackle with energy and excitement, my blood lightning and my breath thunder. ~ Jessica Khoury

Can human nature be so entirely transformed inside and out? Can man, created by God, be made wicked by man? Can a soul be so completely changed by its destiny, and turn evil when its fate is evil? Can the heart become distorted, contract incurable deformities and incurable infirmities, under the pressure of disproportionate grief, like the spinal column under a low ceiling? Is there not in every human soul a primitive spark, a divine element, incorruptible in this world and immortal in the next, which can be developed by goodness, kindled, lit up, and made to radiate, and which evil can never entirely extinguish. ~ Victor Hugo

She watches him for hours. She wants to be the sheets that cover his toes. She wants to be the ceiling separating him from the sky: above him, the first thing he sees before and after dreams. She wants to be the open window letting in the light for him. ~ Natalia Jaster

Comfort can be dangerous. Comfort provides a floor but also a ceiling. ~ Trevor Noah

He slowly lifted his head, eyes focused on the ceiling. "I can dig through."
"Lachlain, I doona think that's wise. This house is centuries old and gets battered as you would no' believe."
"Doona care."
"You might care that all three stories are tongue-and-groove construction - one piece falls, it'll be like a domino effect. War, hurricanes, and constant lightning have made it unsound. I doona think Val Hall can take a Lykae biting through the first floor."
"Support it while I'm gone."
"Hold the floor? If I canna, you could be hurting both our mates. This place could come crashing down."
Lachlain slapped him on the shoulder. "Be sure that you doona drop it. ~ Kresley Cole

When I did show up next door, at 6:34, it sounded like World War III had erupted in the house. I'd let myself in since no one answered the damn door.
"I can't believe you ate all the ice cream, Daemon!"
I cringed and stopped inside the dining room. There was no way I was going into that kitchen.
"I didn't eat all of it."
"Oh, so it ate itself?" Dee shrieked so loudly I thought I heard the rafters in the ceiling shake. "Did the spoon eat it? Oh wait, I know. The carton ate it."
"Actually, I think the freezer ate it," Daemon responded dryly.
I grinned when I heard what sounded like the empty container hitting what suspiciously sounded like flesh. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

Her skin glowed in dawn's soft light sneaking in through curtains, and she stretched her arms up toward the ceiling in a move that elongated everything above her waist and below his belt. ~ Avery Flynn

He laughs and stares up at the ceiling, as though a higher power changed his life path. Maybe fate, luck - or him. His choice. He took the risk. ~ Krista Ritchie

There's no ceiling ... just a continuation of improvement. ~ Chris Weidman

I love having a ceiling fan, although sometimes I wish he wouldn't cheer so loud when I'm trying to sleep. ~ Jarod Kintz

I can't believe you ate all the ice cream, Daemon!"I cringed and stopped inside the dining room. There was no way I was going into that kitchen."I didn't eat all of it.""Oh, so it ate itself?" Dee shrieked so loudly I thought I heard the rafters in the ceiling shake."Did the spoon eat it? Oh wait, I know. The carton ate it.""Actually, I think the freezer ate it," Daemon responded dryly. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

Then the pulse.
Then a pause.
Then twilight in a box.
Dusk underfoot.
Then generations.

-

Then the same war by a different name.
Wine splashing in the bucket.
The erection, the era.
Then exit Reason.
Then sadness without reason.
Then the removal of the ceiling by hand.

-

Then pages & pages of numbers.
Then the page with the faint green stain.
Then the page on which Prince Theodore, gravely wounded,
is thrown onto a wagon.
Then the page on which Masha weds somebody else.
Then the page that turns to the story of somebody else.
Then the page scribbled in dactyls.
Then the page which begins Exit Angel.
Then the page wrapped around a dead fish.
Then the page where the serfs reach the ocean.
Then a nap.
Then the peg.
Then the page with the curious helmet.
Then the page on which millet is ground.
Then the death of Ursula.
Then the stone page they raised over her head.
Then the page made of grass which goes on.

-

Exit Beauty.

-

Then the page someone folded to mark her place.
Then the page on which nothing happens.
The page after this page.

Then the transcript.
Knocking within.

Interpretation, then harvest.

-

Exit Want.
Then a love story.

Then a trip to the ruins.
Then & only th ~ Srikanth Reddy

We crave rich variegations of light. Too much time in one ambience, and we long for something new. Perhaps this explains the sensory ennui of those who live under unchanging skies. The monotony of blank sunny skies or of an endless cloud ceiling deprives us of the visual diversity we desire. ~ David George Haskell

ART said, "I want an apology."
I made an obscene gesture at the ceiling with both hands. (I know ART isn't the ceiling but the humans kept looking up there like it was.)
ART said, "That was unnecessary."
In a low voice, Ratthi commented to Overse, "Anyone who thinks machine intelligences don't have emotions needs to be in this very uncomfortable room right now. ~ Martha Wells

She said, "Why can't you see that people care for you?"
She said, "I care for you."
"I know that you care. But…" He searched her face. "Anyone would, for a friend."
"You're more than a friend."
"On the battlefield, you stayed--"
"Of course I did."
"You have a strong sense of honor. You always have. I think you think you owe me something."
"I stayed because I love you."
He flinched and looked away. "You don't mean that."
"Yes, I do."
The night outside seemed to swell against the tent. The lamp smelled like a hot stone. His face slowly opened. He touched her hand as it pressed against his heart. His caress was light, secret, almost unsure of her knuckles, the thin tendons as strong as bone. She felt him become sure.
There was no sound when he kissed her. None when she unthreaded the ties of his shirt and found his skin.
He grasped her dagger belt, flexed his fingers once around the leather, then simply held on. He whispered something into her mouth that was almost a word. It lost its shape, became something else.
He let go. She heard the brush of linen as he drew the shirt over his head, his fingertips grazing the tent's sloped ceiling as if for balance. His ribs were bound with gauze, his body marked by scars. Old ones, badly healed and raised. Others, pink and fresh. His shoulders bore pale gouges; they looked like sets of claws, almost deliberate, like tattoos. Curious, she touched them.
He bit his lip.
Marie Rutkoski

Then she stretches her legs
toward the ceiling,
aiming for the sky
My sister doesn't know
that I've already been there ~ Kelsey Sutton

He stared at the corner of the yellowed ceiling, at the spider web and its solitary occupant. "Why here?" he asked the spider. "You could choose anywhere instead of this house. I know I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to be." The spider said nothing. Come to think of it, Callum was sure the spider hadn't moved even an inch in the last week. Maybe it was dead. Dead and crisp like the untouched wasp carcass on his window sill. ~ Scott Kaelen

The house was a vast labyrinth of books. Volumes were stacked from floor to ceiling on every wall, dark, crackling, redolent of leather bindings, smooth to the touch, with their gold titles and translucent gilt-edged pages and delicate typography. ~ Isabel Allende

She took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling for a long moment. A raindrop moved slowly down her neck; he watched as it turned down the slope of
her breast to disappear inside the collar of her shirt.
He was seriously contemplating becoming jealous of a droplet of water. Yorkshire was obviously damaging to his sanity. ~ Sarah MacLean

He sent you a text message that read: FIre Sign - You're compatible with all signs. Your blood group breathes disappointment and happiness. You stick your tongue in the woman's mouth in order to cool down. The fog that burns on the ceiling is the steam of sweat. You buy pins and colored pictures from the shop. You pin them on your flesh when you receive a guest. The firewood comes to you throughout the night, wrapped in nightmares. When you wake up you have a bath on fire. You eat on fire. You read the newspapers on fire. You smoke a cigarette on fire. In the coffee cup you come across prophecies of fire. You laugh on fire. You have your lungs checked at the hospital, and they find a spring of errors that looks like a tumor. You dream of the final act: It goes out. ~ Hassan Blasim

He shoved her feet down to the floor, slid down the sofa, and cupped her face in his hands.
She barely had time to moisten her lips and shut her eyes before his mouth closed in to claim hers in a fiery hot kiss. She felt as if her whole body was floating off the sofa toward the ceiling. His hands on her cheeks were the only thing that kept her grounded. Her arms went around his neck. Both hands twisted into his hair for better leverage as his tongue found its way past her lips to do a beautiful two-step with hers.
Sweet Jesus! A kiss had never done that to her before. She wanted more ... ~ Carolyn Brown