Gropius Chair Quotes

Sit, Your High Majestic Lord Princes," she said. She yanked a chair from the table and sat herself down.
"You're in fine temper," Raffin said.
"Your hair is blue," Katsa snapped back. ~ Kristin Cashore

Dear Deborah,

Words do not come easily for so many men. We are taught to be strong, to provide, to put away our emotions. A father can work his way through his days and never see that his years are going by. If I could go back in time, I would say some things to that young father as he holds, somewhat uncertainly, his daughter for the very first time. These are the things I would say:

When you hear the first whimper in the night, go to the nursery leaving your wife sleeping. Rock in a chair, walk the floor, sing a lullaby so that she will know a man can be gentle.

When Mother is away for the evening, come home from work, do the babysitting. Learn to cook a hotdog or a pot of spaghetti, so that your daughter will know a man can serve another's needs.

When she performs in school plays or dances in recitals, arrive early, sit in the front seat, devote your full attention. Clap the loudest, so that she will know a man can have eyes only for her.

When she asks for a tree house, don't just build it, but build it with her. Sit high among the branches and talk about clouds, and caterpillars, and leaves. Ask her about her dreams and wait for her answers, so that she will know a man can listen.

When you pass by her door as she dresses for a date, tell her she is beautiful. Take her on a date yourself. Open doors, buy flowers, look her in the eye, so that she will know a man can respect her.

When she moves away ~ Lisa Wingate

Misner walked away from the pulpit, to the rear wall of the church. There he stretched, reaching up until he was able to unhook the cross that hung there. He carried it then, past the empty choir stall, past the organ where Kate sat, the chair where Pulliam was, on to the podium and held it before him for all to see - if only they would ... Without this sign, the believer's life was confined to praising God and taking the hits. The praise was credit; the hits were interest due on a debt that could never be paid ... But with it, in the religion in which this sign was paramount and foundational, well, life was a whole other matter. ~ Toni Morrison

In 1959 the University recognized our work by appointing me to a new Chair of Radio Astronomy. ~ Martin Ryle

This leather chair belongs to me. I would let you sit in it, but you can't sit in an idea. ~ Jarod Kintz

What follows is very simple but revolutionary. If a carpenter makes a chair, he can leave it and the chair will not cease to be. For the material he used in its making has a quality called rigidity, by virtue of which it will retain its nature as a chair. The maker of the chair has left it, but the chair can still rely for continuance in existence upon the material he used, the wood. Similarly if the Maker of the Universe left it, the Universe too would have to rely for continuance in existence upon the material He used - nothing. In short, the truth that God used no material in our making carries with it the not-sufficiently-realized truth that God continues to hold us in being, and that unless He did so we should simply cease to be. ~ Frank Sheed

For a moment Jack felt the strongest inclination to snatch up his little gilt chair and beat the white-faced man down with it ... ~ Patrick O'Brian

I look at you. i know what you are. you are sloppy-bodied, smelly and wet. a woman who was born to sit trapped in a chair while a man tells her how much she excites him. _Eric Packer ~ Don DeLillo

life. She leaned back in her chair, blinked back a tear and looked at her oak dining room table. The evening had taken her several hours to prepare. She concentrated on the two candles in the center. She watched as the flame flickered and wondered if one of them would go out. She heard the grandfather clock chime and one of the candles finally did burn out. More tears were stinging her eyes as she longingly looked at the door. She was becoming disconsolate and wanted to know what had become of her husband. Even on the most chaotic of days he had never forgotten their anniversary. He had always found a way ~ S.C. King

B.C. sat back in his chair. Whatever America needs, the world will supply. Cocaine? Colombia steps to the plate. Shortage of farmworkers, corn detasselers? Thank God for Mexico. Baseball players? Viva Dominicana. Need more interns? India, Philippines zindabad ~ Abraham Verghese

I've never really been star struck. I was a little bit taken aback when I was doing a chat show recently and I was sat in the make-up chair chatting to a guy say next to me but I couldn't look round and see who it was, it was only when I got up I realised it had been Bryan Adams I'd been talking to! ~ Richard Fleeshman

Knowledge is power," she finishes, and I open my eyes to find her rounding the chair, "but ignorance can be a blessing. ~ Victoria Schwab

Jesse."
My head springs up with a deep breath of panic. Alex's face appears in my blurry vision. I guess I managed to fall asleep in this old chair after all. Now I feel worse than when I sat down.
"Come." She takes my hand and tugs me until I get out of the chair, leading me to the bed. It's still dark out, but the fire casts enough glow.
"Wait, let me get the-"
"No, this is perfect. Really." She's still whispering. the girl who drives a BMW Z8, and she wears probably two years' worth my salary on her finger, curls up on an unmade bed with an old wool blanket and says it's perfect. ~ K.A. Tucker

A chair is not just a product of decorative art in a space, it is a form and a space in itself ~ Finn Juhl

Luck usually visits me at 2 am on a cold morning when, red-eyed and bone-weary, I am pouring over law books preparing a case. It never visits me when I am at the cinema, on a golf course or reclining in an easy chair. ~ Louis Nizer

Nina threw herself into a chair at the table and wriggled her feet out of her jewelled slippers, digging her toes into the plush white carpet. "Ahhh," she said contentedly. "So much better." She shoved one of the cakes from the coffee service into her mouth and mumbled, "What do you want, Kaz?" "You have crumbs on your cleavage." "Don't care," she said, taking another bite of cake. "So hungry. ~ Leigh Bardugo

The last time I saw Wade, I attacked him with an office chair. The time before that, I jammed a lit cheesecake up his ass and almost burned his balls off. So it's understandable that his first reaction upon seeing me is to flinch and assume a defensive posture. ~ Jonathan Tropper

Simon's band never actually produced any music. Mostly they sat around in Simon's living room, fighting about potential names and band logos. She sometimes wondered if any of them could actually play an instrument. 'What's on the table?'
'We're choosing between Sea Vegetable Conspiracy and Rock Solid Panda.'
Clary shook her head. 'Those are both terrible.'
'Eric suggested Lawn Chair Crisis.'
'Maybe Eric should stick to gaming.'
'But then we'd have to find a new drummer.'
'Oh, is that what Eric does? ... ~ Cassandra Clare

That night, I took a while falling asleep and when I did, I had a strange dream. She was sitting in my rocking chair and rocking herself, her dead eyes fixed on me. I lay on my bed, paralysed with fear, unable to move, unable to scream, my limbs refusing to move to my command. The room was suddenly freezing cold, the heater had probably stopped working in the night because the electricity supply had been cut and the inverter too had run out. At one point, I was uncertain whether I was dreaming or awake, or in that strange space between dreaming and wakefulness, where the soul wanders out of the body and explores other dimensions. What I knew was that I was chilled to the bones, chilled in a way that made it impossible for me to move myself, to lever myself to a sitting position in order to switch the bedside lamp on and check whether this was really happening. I could hear her in my head. Her voice was faint, feathery, and sibilant, as if she was whispering through a curtain of rain. Her words were indistinct, she called my name, she said words that pierced through my ears, words that meshed into ice slivers in my brain and when I thought finally that I would freeze to death an ice cold tiny body climbed into the quilt with me, putting frigidly chilly arms around me, and whispered, 'Mother, I'm cold.' Icicles shot up my spine, and I sat up, bolt upright in my bed, feeling the covers fall from me and a small indent in the mattress where something had been, a moment ago. There ~ Kiran Manral

I went to the park and saw this kid flying a kite. The kid was really excited. I don't know why, that's what they're supposed to do. Now if he had had a chair on the other end of that string, I would have been impressed. ~ Mitch Hedberg

"All I know is that the pain wants to be shared."
"Does it?" The dancer smiled a little. "Even with Akos?"
"The pain isn't me; it doesn't discriminate," I said. "The pain is my curse."
"No, no," the dancer said, her dark eyes locked on mine. But they weren't brown anymore, as they had been when I saw her perform in the dining room; they were gray, and wary. Akos's eyes, familiar to me even in a dream.
He had taken her place, perched at the edge of the seat as if ready to take flight, his long body dwarfing the chair.
"Every currentgift carries a curse," he said. "But no gift is only a curse."
"The gift part of it is that no one can hurt me," I said.
But even as I said it, I knew it wasn't true. People could still hurt me. They didn't need to touch me to do it--they didn't even need to torture me to do it. As long as I cared about my life, as long as I cared about Akos's life, or the lives of renegades I barely knew, I was as vulnerable as everyone else was to hurt.
I blinked at him as a different answer came to me.
"You told me I was more than a knife, more than a weapon," I said. "Maybe you're right."
He smiled that small, familiar smile that creased his cheek.
"The gift," I said, "is the strength the curse has given me." The new answer was like a blooming hushflower, petals unfurling. "I can bear it. I can bear pain. I can bear anything."
He reached for my cheek. He became the dancer, and my mother, and Otega, in ~ Veronica Roth

How did you do it?" I brought the teacup to my mouth for another sip. "How did you guide Sophie's soul? I thought you were a reaper."
"He's both," Nash said from behind me, and I turned just as he followed my father through the front door, pulling his long sleeves down one at a time. He and my dad had just loaded Aunt Val's white silk couch into the back of my uncle's truck, so he wouldn't have to deal with the bloodstains when he and Sohie got back from the hospital. "Tod is very talented."
Tod brushed the curl back from his face and scowled.
Harmony spoke up from the kitchen as the oven door squealed open. "Both my boys are talented."
"Both?" I repeated, sure I'd heard her wrong.
Nash sighed and slid onto the chair his mother had vacated, then gestured toward the reaper with one hand. "Kaylee, meet my brother, Tod. ~ Rachel Vincent

No." Roman got up off his chair. "The wedding night is for you and Curran. The wedding is for everyone else and it's the price you pay so you can get to the wedding night. ~ Ilona Andrews

Kiss me already, god. I can't take the hungry looks any longer." She told him with boldness. Her breath fanning his face and her eyes … fuck, her eyes could seduce any man and they trained on him.

Then he kissed her.

A growl gurgling at the back of his throat, he took her lips like he'd been starving for his whole life waiting for a kiss like this one.

Her mouth offered him everything Butcher didn't know he'd needed and now was dying for.

She was a breath. A yearning.
Her mouth parted so inviting and he dove in with his tongue.

When her taste filled his mouth, the ticking bomb inside his head intensified. It only grew louder as her fingers speared into his hair and kissed him back like she was meant to kiss only him.

Like she needed his flavor drenching her mouth in the same way.
She moaned.
Butcher grunted his arousal, holding the back of her head to keep her right there. And when her mouth opened again, he pushed in to chase her tongue.

His free hand sloped down the curve of her back until he had a grip of her ass, helping her to move on him. Fuck, she was like a serpent curling her hips, driving him crazy and then crazier still, he lifted his pelvis from the chair in hopes of getting closer to that heaven but that would only happen if she let Butcher take her somewhere private.
One more taste.
Another bite and suck.
One more bruising kiss.
Not a kiss. It was a po ~ V. Theia

Charlie waves me on, then leans an elbow on his chair. Propping his head up with a finger by his temple.
He's pissed at me.
But this is Tuesday and the sky is blue. So everything is as it should be. ~ Krista Ritchie

Harry paused with his fork held in midair, mesmerized by the sight of her slim fingers twirling the honey stick, meticulously filling each hole with thick umber liquid. Realizing that he was staring, Harry took a bite of his breakfast. Poppy replaced the honey stick in a small silver pot. Discovering a stray drop of sweetness on the tip of her thumb, she lifted it to her lips and sucked it clean.
Harry choked a little, reached for his tea, and took a swallow. The beverage scalded his tongue, causing him to flinch and curse.
Poppy gave him an odd look. "Is there anything the matter?"
Nothing. Except that watching his wife eating breakfast was the most erotic act he had ever seen. "Nothing at all," Harry said scratchily. "Tea's hot."
When he dared to look at Poppy again, she was consuming a fresh strawberry, holding it by the green stem. Her lips rounded in a luscious pucker as she bit neatly into the ripe flesh of the fruit. Christ. He moved uncomfortably in his chair, while all the unsatisfied desire of the previous night reawakened with a vengeance. Poppy ate two more strawberries, nibbling slowly, while Harry tried to ignore her. Heat collected beneath his clothing, and he used a napkin to blot his forehead.
Poppy lifted a bite of honey-soaked crumpet to her mouth, and gave him a perplexed glance. "Are you feeling well?"
"It's too warm in here," Harry said irritably, while lurid thoughts went through his mind. Thoughts involving honey, and soft ~ Lisa Kleypas

I began, I remember, because I felt I had to. I'd reached that modest height in my career, that gentle rise, from which I could coast out of gear to a soft stop. Now I wonder why not. Why not? But then duty drove me forward like a soldier. I said it was time for "the Big Book," the long monument to my mind I repeatedly dreamed I had to have: a pyramid, a column tall enough to satisfy the sky. Duty drove me the way it drives men into marriage. Begetting is expected of us, and in those days of heavy men in helmets the seed was certain, and wanted only the wind for a womb, or any slit; yet what sprang up out of those foxholes we fucked with our fists but our own frightened selves? with a shout of pure terror, too. That too - that too was expected; it was expected even of flabby maleless men like me. And now, here, where I am writing still, still in this chair, hammering type like tacks into the page, speaking without a listening ear, whose eye do I hope to catch and charm and fill with tears and understanding, if not my own, my own ordinary, unforgiving and unfeeling eye?...my eye. So sentences circle me like a toy train. What could I have said about the Boche, about bigotry, barbarism, butchery, Bach, that hasn't been said as repeatedly as I dreamed by dream of glory, unless it was what I've said? What could I have explained where no reason exists and no cause is adequate; what body burned to a crisp could I have rebelieved was bacon, if I had not taken the tack I took? ~ William H. Gass

When we arrived, my sisters pulled the wheelchair out of the trunk and placed it next to the car door. They opened the door and Jennifer leaned down and with one swift motion lifted me up like a nearly weightless child and placed me in the chair. I laughed it off.
"My sister's strong. She's really strong," I boasted on her behalf.
Sara, Katherine, and Jennifer were laughing the whole time because I didn't realize how scrawny I was, how much weight I had lost. Jennifer could pick me up with no problem because I practically weighed nothing at all. ~ Noah Galloway

The kid who throws his spaghetti from the high chair onto his father's face, he's pushing back. He's sticking it to the man as he sees it. I like that. So that is punk. ~ Henry Rollins

Consulting maps can diminish the wanderlust that they awaken,as the act of looking at them can replace the act of travel. But looking at maps is much more than an act of aesthetic replacement. Anyone who opens an atlas wants everything at once, without limits
the whole world. This longing will always be great, far greater than any satisfaction to be had by attaining what is desired. Give me an atlas over a guidebook any day. There is no more poetic book in the world. ~ Judith Schalansky

I sometimes used to ask myself, what on earth did I love her for? Maybe fore the warm hazel iris of her fluffy eyes, or for the natural side-wave of her brown hair, done anyhow, or again for that movement of her plump shoulders. But, probably the truth was that I loved her because she loved me. To her I was the ideal man: brains, pluck. And there was none dressed better. I remember once, when I first put on that new dinner jacket, with the vast trousers, she clapsed her hands, sank down on a chair and murmured: 'Oh, Hermann ... It was ravishment bordering upon something like heavenly woe. ~ Vladimir Nabokov

Abbey," Sarah said, "life is to be lived. If you're living, you're going to stumble along the way."
"All the time?" Abigail lept to her feet and began to pace. "I have such a bad temper and when I was in my teens, I wasn't above using my gift for revenge. None of you did that."
Joley slowly raised her hand, sliding down in the chair as she did so. Hannah followed suit, though she didn't look in the least remorseful. Sarah shrugged her shoulders and raised her hand and glared at Elle, who just grinned sheepishly and put up a couple of fingers. Carol tossed her head and waved her arm with gusto. ~ Christine Feehan

When the zebra-striped lizards return, bulbous eyes twisting in every direction, they carry a platter garnished with dried fruit and something that resembles a duck. It's plucked and roasted but still has its head intact. A warm, herbal scent tickles my nose. At least it's cooked.
"May I introduce you all to the main course?" Morpheus spreads out an arm with dramatic flair. "Dinner, meet your worthy adversaries, the hungry guests."
My tongue dries to sandpaper as the bird's eyes pop open, and it hobbles to stand on webbed feet, flesh brown and glistening with glaze and oil. There's a bell hung around its neck, and it jingles as the duck bows to greet everyone.
This cannot be happening.
Morpheus drags the heavy mallet from beside his chair and pounds it on the table like a judge's gavel. "Now that we're all acquainted, let the walloping begin."
Gossamer launches from Morpheus's shoulder and leaves the room with the other sprites as mass confusion erupts. All the guests leap to their feet, mallets in hand, to chase the jingling duck. ~ A.G. Howard

Hey, fellas! How about this for a headline for tomorrow's paper? 'French Fries!'"
Convicted murderer James French to members of the press who were witnesses at his execution by the State of Oklahoma in the electric chair in 1966. ~ James French

Hannah sat down again and leant back against the tall head of the hall chair. He was right. Yes, he was right. She must have been mad to go on like she had. Good Lord! She hadn't given him the message from Mrs Beggs. Again she was on her feet, but her voice still sounded angry as she called down the hall, 'I forgot to give you a message, from Mrs Beggs. She wanted to know if you were going there tomorrow or Saturday.' There was a moment's silence before his door opened and he came back into the hall and went to the telephone. She remained standing where she was until she heard him say, 'Hello, Beggie. ~ Catherine Cookson

But the goal of the arts, culinary or otherwise, is not to increase our comfort. That is the goal of an easy chair. ~ Jeffrey Steingarten

mouth as he spoke, and when he stopped, she looked up again, meeting his gaze. "It's strange," she said, "hearing words this way. These are the first real words I've heard." Blaise felt a chill go down his spine. Getting up from his chair, he began to pace, trying to keep his eyes off her nude body. He had been expecting something to appear. A magical object, a thing. He just hadn't known what form that thing would take. A mirror, perhaps, or a lamp. Maybe even something as unusual as the Life Capture Sphere that sat on his desk like a large round diamond. ~ Dima Zales

He took his aim. His arm wavered. His eyes burned with sweat. Why didn't someone come and jump on his back and make him stop?

He fired.

A chair fell over in his mind. ~ Timothy Findley

Barabas placed a stack on the table and held the chair out for me. "For you."
"I'm hungry and I don't have time for this."
Barabas's eyes held no mercy. "Make time, Alpha. You have two hands. You can eat and sign simultaneously."
Curran grinned.
"Enjoying my suffering?" I asked.
"I find it hilarious that you'll run into a gunfight with nothing but your sword, but paperwork makes you panic."
Barabas put a thicker stack in front of him.
"This is yours, m'lord."
Curran swore. ~ Ilona Andrews

The process by which the idea for a play comes to me has always been something I really couldn't pinpoint. A play just seems to materialize; like an apparition, it gets clearer and clearer and clearer. It's very vague at first, as in the case of Streetcar, which came after Menagerie. I simply had the vision of a woman in her late youth. She was sitting in a chair all alone by a window with the moonlight streaming in on her desolate face, and she'd been stood up by the man she planned to marry. ~ Tennessee Williams

He sits in an old armchair in the corner covered with bits of blankets and a bucket behind the chair that stinks enough to make you sick and when you look at that old man in the dark corner you want to get a hose with hot water and strip him and wash him down and give him a big feed of rashers and eggs and mashed potatoes with loads of butter and salt and onions.
I want to take the man from the Boer War and the pile of rags in the bed and put them in a big sunny house in the country with birds chirping away outside the window and a stream gurgling. ~ Frank McCourt

Charlie Rangel was writing laws on our taxes as chair of the Ways and Means Committee while somehow neglecting to pay his own. ~ Nancy Gibbs

A very big problem we have, as a human race, is our repeated failure to identify and to acknowledge all of the parts within us and we collectively and individually spend time and energy on denying so many inner natures, in a hot pursuit of moral codes and annoying virtues, that we have shrunken away within ourselves and left on top merely a malnourished container which feeds on static energy (knee jerk emotions, responses to stimuli, etc.). We are afraid of the creatures that roam the woodlands within us and we are afraid of the abandoned castles, eerie lakes, old songs, forgotten gazebos, all of which are established on the inside of the mind. There is maybe an old chair in a corner of a diner inside of your mind and you push it away and away and further away instead of going back to it, to sit down on it, to have a milkshake at that table. We have forged a worldwide culture wherein we are constantly struggling towards a moral good and it is supposed to be a daily attainment, and yet, nobody ever is good enough at the end of the day. And so we have cut off pieces of ourselves–arms and legs–because everything is nothing, or is wrong, in our bids to be worthy. No wonder we are all so lonely. We have amputated ourselves, and one another, in a bid to run away from the souls which take residence inside of us. Then we blame this loneliness on the world, or on other people's cowardice, or on the stupidity of the human race... we have failed to embrace the monsters within us long en ~ C. JoyBell C.

I sit in the rocking chair and sway back and forth. The movement calms me. The range of motion is limited. Confined. It fits in a box. ~ Jessica Brody

Lord Macon deposited his wife into a chair and then knelt next to her, clutching one of her hands. "Tell me truthfully - how are you feeling?"
Alexia took a breath. "Truthfully? I sometimes wonder if I, like Madame Lefoux, should affect masculine dress."
"Gracious me, why?"
"You mean aside from the issue of greater mobility?"
"My love, I don't think that's currently the result of your clothing."
"Indeed, I mean after the baby."
"I still don't see why should want to."
"Oh no? I dare you to spend a week in a corset, long skirts and a bustle."
"How do you know I haven't? ~ Gail Carriger

Grey wasn't quite drunk, but he was far from sober when Rose entered his study later that evening. His heart stuttered at the sight of her, but his head…his head couldn't take any more.
"I've been drinking," he warned her, just in case his sprawled posture and missing cravat wasn't enough indication. "And I refuse to dance this ridiculous dance with you any more tonight."
"May I have a drink with you?"
He glanced up. She stood beside the sofa where he half sat, half lay. She looked like someone who'd just lost her best friend or puppy or something equally as tragic.
He sat up. "Of course." Never mind that it wasn't proper. Who the hell cared? They were well past proper. He was simply trying to hold on to sane.
She poured herself a substantial glass of sherry and took a seat on the chair nearest him. He sat quietly, nursing the remainder of whiskey in his glass while she took several sips from her own.
"Do you remember my come-out ball?" she asked after a few minutes.
"Of course." And he did. "I remember telling you that you looked lovely in pink."
She smiled. "You danced the first dance with me so I wouldn't have to dance with Papa."
"You were afraid the other girls would laugh at you if you danced with your father."
"They didn't laugh at me for dancing with you."
"No." He chuckled at took a drink. "I wager they didn't."
Rose sighed. "They thought you were so scandalous, you know. All night I had girls coming up to m ~ Kathryn Smith

Unless by some miracle, he got up from the chair and changed his life. Unless some store of character revealed itself, and with a little guidance from me, he returned in six months a new man. But even then, I thought, that change, that character, would have to be in him already. I was never going to manufacture it with a few stern warnings - God knows I'd tried - and pain forgets within the hour what it learns in an instant. ~ Joshua Ferris

[Love] feels . . ." I paused, turning the highlighter in my hand, "like an awakening of senses you never knew you had, and once they're awakened, you're never the same. The way you see the world is altered. Instead of riding down a road on your bike and thinking how the wind feels good on your face, you think, 'This is how it feels when he kisses my cheek.' You play a piece on the piano, and instead of imagining a crowd applauding, you only see him, sitting in the chair next to the piano, smiling at you. You catch the scent of sage in the air and think, 'This is how he smells.' But it's also kind of like being on a mousetrap ride. Exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. You smile and laugh and feel a thrill inside of you, all the while wondering in the back of your mind if the car will come off the track at the next turn, or if your harness will come open and you will be tossed to the ground to your death. ~ Sarah Beard