Wooden Floors Cloth Quotes

Christmas in Barbados

I miss being in Barbados in December,
That is a time I always remember,
The smell of varnish on the wooden floors
and the smell of paint on the wooden floors.
The smell of cloves as the ham was baked
And the smell of the rum in mother's fruit cake
The smell of coconut as she bake de sweetbread,
And the smell of the cloth, as she made up de bed ~ Charmaine J Forde

Instead of wooden floors, she found lush green grass under her feet. Instead of a ceiling, she saw a hazy blue sky. And instead of walls, she saw a silver stream through the trees. The day was halcyon. It looked like someone's memory of a perfect day. ~ Tiffany Reisz

We are by now so accustomed to the cult of expertise that the very notion of honoring and paying heed to our directly felt experience of things - of insects and wooden floors, of broken-down cars and bird-pecked apples and the scents rising from the soil - seems odd and somewhat misguided as a way to find out what's worth knowing. ~ David Abram

At night, my own century-old wooden floors creaked while I dreamed of her, as she looked before radiation destroyed her famously enormous hair and removed all evidence of her addiction to homemade brownies. I woke to clammy sheets and the grim reminder that Liz's soul was not, in fact, speaking to me from beyond the grave. Rationally, I knew that memory synapses of plump, frizzy Liz were bursting forth from the depths of my brain. Emotionally, I wanted Liz back with me, no matter what her form - but getting her back would require a leap of faith that the rest of me (the stuff surrounding that Liz-shaped hole) just couldn't take. ~ Shannon Drury

I'm in a constant battle with reality and pretend
with who I am, who I want to be,
and who I wish I could be
with picking up the pieces, painting portraits of something strong, something whole,
something to be proud of
and shattering crystal vases on wooden floors
while smiling, without blinking
with seeing just how far I can run away from myself
without forgetting myself ~ Madisen Kuhn

Curl moaned. Mattie rocked. Propelled by the sound, Mattie rocked her out of that bed, out of that room, into a blue vastness just underneath the sun and above time. She rocked her over Aegean seas so clean they shine like crystal, so clear the fresh blood of sacrificed babies torn from their mothers arms and given to Neptune could be seen like pink froth on the water. She rocked her on and on, past Dachau, where soul-gutted Jewish mothers swept their children's entrails off laboratory floors. They flew past the spilled brains of Senegalese infants whose mothers had dashed them on the wooden sides of slave ships. And she rocked on.
She rocked her into her childhood and let her see murdered dreams. And she rocked her back, back into the womb, to the nadir of her hurt, and they found it-a slight silver splinter, embedded just below the surface of her skin. And Mattie rocked and pulled-and the splinter gave way, but its roots were deep, gigantic, ragged, and they tore up flesh with bits of fat and muscle tissue clinging to them. They left a huge hole, which was already starting to pus over, but Mattie was satisfied. It would heal. ~ Gloria Naylor

I think you have to take your worth from yourself. If you don't look like people do on the telly, it doesn't matter. If you have nothing in common with the women and men in magazines, it doesn't matter. They're not the norm. Magazines women are put there to make us buy stuff. All it makes me want to buy is food. And fewer magazines. Fuck that, none. If you know that you are a good person, kind, hardworking, interesting and interested then go with that. Fuck what your hair looks like. Or your nails. The heels of of my feet are covered in such hard skin that they make a noise on wooden floors. Do I dash out and get hard skin-melting shite from Boots? No, I just think, if shoes become scarce I'll be fine. My husband once said that skin is nature's shoes. ~ Sarah Millican

I had spent all the years I had been in Lo-Melkhiin's body giving power to men who I thought would use it in ways that might serve me. I had given them great art and great thoughts, and they never guessed that they fed a terrible hunger in me that would require feeding until they died trying to sate it. They had done great things and made great tales, but I had been blind. All of this time, I had had access to more power than I had imagined, and I had missed it because I saw with men's eyes. I had forgotten the girls who scrubbed the floors and spun the yarn. I had forgotten the women who dyed the cloth and worked with henna. I had married three hundred girls, and as much as eaten them all before they were done cooking. ~ E.K. Johnston

I retain a searing memory of the smell of fresh varnish on wooden floors, and the feeling that I was entering incarceration as I stepped through the door for my first day of kindergarten. ~ James Edwin Turner

Old Hubert must have had a premonition of his squalid demise. In October he said to me, 'Forty-two years I've had this place. I'd really like to go back home, but I ain't got the energy since my old girl died. And I can't sell it the way it is now. But anyway before I hang my hat up I'd be curious to know what's in that third cellar of mine.'

The third cellar has been walled up by order of the civil defence authorities after the floods of 1910. A double barrier of cemented bricks prevents the rising waters from invading the upper floors when flooding occurs. In the event of storms or blocked drains, the cellar acts as a regulatory overflow.

The weather was fine: no risk of drowning or any sudden emergency. There were five of us: Hubert, Gerard the painter, two regulars and myself. Old Marteau, the local builder, was upstairs with his gear, ready to repair the damage. We made a hole.

Our exploration took us sixty metres down a laboriously-faced vaulted corridor (it must have been an old thoroughfare). We were wading through a disgusting sludge. At the far
end, an impassable barrier of iron bars. The corridor continued beyond it, plunging downwards. In short, it was a kind of drain-trap.

That's all. Nothing else. Disappointed, we retraced our steps. Old Hubert scanned the walls with his electric torch. Look! An opening. No, an alcove, with some wooden object that looks like a black statuette. I pick the thing up: it's easily remo ~ Jacques Yonnet

The facade of the robatayaki looked like a leftover from the past…smoky-black tiles topped its wooden overhang…red, waxy paper lanterns lit it up…a noren curtain hung from a thin bamboo pole above the doorframe. Its sliding doors had rows of rectangular panes of glass. The robatayaki's simplicity gave the impression of a one-story building, but eight floors of apartments rose up from it. ~ B. Jeanne Shibahara

Motion-picture studio floors used to be all wooden and not smooth at all. This was difficult when moving a camera around on a dolly. ~ Desi Arnaz

Come out, come out, little Harry!" she called in her mock-baby voice, which echoed off the polished wooden floors. "What did you come after me for, then? I thought you were here to avenge my dear cousin!"

"I am!" shouted Harry, and a score of ghostly Harrys seemed to chorus I am! I am! I am! all around the room.

"Aaaaaah... did you love him, little baby Potter?"

Hatred rose in Harry such as he had never known before. He flung himself out from behind the fountain and bellowed "Crucio!"

Bellatrix screamed. The spell had knocked her off her feet, but she did not writhe and shriek with the pain as Neville had -- she was already on her feet again, breathless, no longer laughing. Harry dodged behind the garden fountain again -- her counterspell hit the head of the handsome wizard, which was blown off and landed twenty feet away, gouging long scratches into the wooden floor.

"Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?" she yelled. She had abandoned her baby voice now. "You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain -- to enjoy it -- righteous anger won't hurt me for long -- I'll show you how it is done, shall I? I'll give you a lesson--! ~ J.K. Rowling

I look back on those days and regret none of it, not the risks, not the shame, not the total lack of foresight. The lyric cast of the sun, the teeming fields with tall plants nodding away under the intense midafternoon heat, the squeak of our wooden floors, or the scrape of the clay ashtray pushed ever so lightly on the marble slab that used to sit on my nightstand. I knew that our minutes were numbered, but I didn't dare count them, just as I knew where all this was headed, but I didn't care to read the signposts. This was a time when I intentionally failed to drop bread crumbs for my return journey; instead, I ate them. He could turn out to be a creep; he could change me or ruin me forever, while time and gossip might ultimately disembowel everything we shared and trim the whole thing down till nothing but fish bones remained. I might miss this day, or I might do far better, but I'd always know that on those afternoons in my bedroom I had held my moment. ~ Andre Aciman

Joseph, you're out of clean towels." Lucia poked her head into the living room, the rest of her hidden behind the wall. Her red hair dripped water onto my wooden floors.
"She's in the buff." Jenna guffawed. Gabriella rolled her eyes, beaming.
I rose. "Go back to the bathroom. I'll bring you a towel," I ordered Lucia. She disappeared down the hall.
"You have naked angels running around your house," Jenna continued through her laughter. Gabby laughed louder. ~ Laura Kreitzer

Jeffrey woke up, tied to the high-backed chair in his bedroom, nude. He could hear his wife giggling in the hallway, the hardwood floors creaking with her footsteps with what must have been someone else too. He was gagged, a tight cloth wrapped around his mouth, hurting his jaw when he tried to call for help. He looked down at his body, seeing that he was tied with an intricate rope pattern - a pentagram - on his chest, the hemp fibers tight. He could breathe fine, and he recognized his wife's rigging skills instantly. They'd practiced Kinbaku, a rope bondage before, on multiple occasions, but this rigging was different. It seemed to be tighter than normal, and he knew that something new was being introduced tonight. ~ Todd Misura

In his original design the solicitor's clerk seemed to have forgotten the need for a staircase to link both the floors, and what he had provided had the appearance of an afterthought. Doorways had been punched in the eastern wall and a rough wooden staircase - heavy planks on an uneven frame with one warped unpainted banister, the whole covered with a sloping roof of corrugated iron - hung precariously at the back of the house, in striking contrast with the white-pointed brickwork of the front, the white woodwork and the frosted glass of doors and windows.
For this house Mr.Biswas had paid five thousand five hundred dollars. ~ V.S. Naipaul

Faint traces of other black churches are tucked away in handwritten ledgers at the state archives at Morrow; in the collections at the University of Georgia in Athens; even in the basement of the Forsyth courthouse, where a cardboard box atop a metal filing cabinet still holds deeds for the land on which black residents once founded Mt. Fair, Shakerag, and Stoney Point - about which nothing is known but names and approximate locations. All that can be said for certain is that, again and again in the fall of 1912, white men sloshed gasoline and kerosene onto the benches and wooden floors of such rooms, then backed out into the dark, tossing lit matches as they went. All over the county, beneath the ground on which black churches stood, the soil is rich with ashes. ~ Patrick Phillips

I tell young people that the greatest paintings in museums are made with minerals mixed in oil smeared on cloth with the hair from the back of a pig's ear. It's that simple. ~ James Rosenquist

There is a choice you have to make in everything you do. So keep in mind that in the end, the choice you make, makes you. ~ John Wooden

Last year I had a very unusual experience. I was awake, with my eyes closed, when I had a dream. It was a small dream about time. I was dead, I guess, in deep black space high up among many white stars. My own consciousness had been disclosed to me, and I was happy. Then I saw far below me a long, curved band of color. As I came closer, I saw that it stretched endlessly in either direction, and I understood that I was seeing all the time of the planet where I had lived.

It looked like a woman's tweed scarf; the longer I studied any one spot, the more dots of color I saw. There was no end to the deepness and variety of the dots. At length, I started to look for my time, but, although more and more specks of color and deeper and more intricate textures appeared in the fabric, I couldn't find my time, or any time at all that I recognized as being near my time. I couldn't make out so much as a pyramid. Yet as I looked at the band of time, all the individual people, I understood with special clarity, were living at the very moment with great emotion, in intricate detail, in their individual times and places, and they were dying and being replaced by ever more people, one by one, like stitches in which whole worlds of feeling and energy were wrapped, in a never-ending cloth. I remembered suddenly the color and texture of our life as we knew it- these things had been utterly forgotten- and I thought as I searched for it on the limitless band, "that was a good time then, ~ Annie Dillard

In the case of acupuncture, the time period must also be considered. On a fine day, the sun shining, blood in the human body flows smoothly, saliva is free, breathing is easy. On days of chill and cloud, blood flows thick and slow, breathing is heavy, saliva is viscous. When the moon is waxing, blood and breath are full. When the moon wanes, blood and breath wane. Therefore acupuncture should be used only on fair warm days, when the moon is waxing or, best of all, when the moon is full.'
'Interesting,' Grace said in a comment, 'in bioclimatic research in the West, coronary attacks increase in frequency on cold chilly days when the sun is under clouds.'
Dr Tseng turned the page of his blue cloth-covered book. 'Ah, doubtless the barbarians across the four seas have heard of our learning,' he observed without interest. ~ Pearl S. Buck

You smell like the floor of a bar."
"Hey. I resent that. I have lots of fond memories of bar floors. ~ Nichole Chase

There are three floors beneath the garage? Why on earth?
-Mac ~ Karen Marie Moning

And the PRCS [Palestinian Red Crescent Society] had not lost just one hospital: thirteen clinics and nine hospitals all over Lebanon had been destroyed in this way. Only Gaza Hospital, for a reason I was to discover three years later, was still standing. At the height of the air raids, when the Palestinians found out that every single PRCS hospital and clinic was a bomb target, they put three Israeli soldiers captured in south Lebanon on the upper floors of Gaza Hospital, and radioed a message to the Israeli Army saying that any further military action on Gaza Hospital would result in Israeli lives being lost. That saved Gaza Hospital from further destruction. ~ Ang Swee Chai

Nothing. I have no way of getting in touch with Machiavelli."
Virginia produced her wooden flute and spun it in her fingers. "I don't know why you're so worried, Doctor. I can easily lull them to sleep with-"
Before she could finish her sentence a green-skinned, green-haired, fish-tailed woman had leapt straight up out of the sea, snatched the flute from Virginia's fingers and splashed back into the water on the opposite side of the boat, leaving her empty-handed.
Virginia Dare's scream was hideous. Flinging off her smoke-stained jacket and pulling off her shoes,she launched herself over the side of the boat and disappeared beneath the waves without a trace. ~ Michael Scott

I'm very interested in everything. The words fell with a hollow flatness on to Jay Cee's desk, like so many wooden nickels. ~ Sylvia Plath

I'm no wizard, and I don't like being thought of in that light at all. I think of a wizard as being some sort of magician or something, doing something on the sly or something, and I don't want to be thought of in that way. ~ John Wooden

She drove home and grabbed the things she would need to check out a book: strong rope and a grappling hook, a compass, a flare gun, matches and a can of hair spray, a sharpened wooden spear, and, of course, her library card. ~ Joseph Fink

I was raised by a single mother who made a way for me. She used to scrub floors as a domestic worker, put a cleaning rag in her pocketbook and ride the subways in Brooklyn so I would have food on the table. But she taught me as I walked her to the subway that life is about not where you start, but where you're going. That's family values. ~ Al Sharpton

The two hardest things to handle in life are failure and success. ~ John Wooden

Tell me,' the man leans forward ans says, 'have you heard of a lady called Madeleine? No? In 1996, this lady named Albright Madeleine, the US ambassador to the United Nations, was asked on television how she felt about the fact that five hundred thousand Iraqi children had died as a result of US economic sanctions? Do you know what she said? She said that it was "a very hard choice" but "we think the price is worth it". These are her exact words. How do you feel about that?
'How do you think I feel about that? And I would take your love for children more seriously if you didn't have children cleaning your floors. ~ Nadeem Aslam

He couldn't have eaten that horrid soup!"
"He did,and he even pretended to like it."
"Pretended?"
"No one could have liked that meal." She wrinkled her nose. "Mary was mortified."
"Mary can be mortified all she wishes; we can't have MacLean da-"
Sophia slipped the spoon into his mouth and dumped the contents.
Red choked, his face contorting, and he looked around wildly.
"Do not spit that out."
He glared at her, and after what appeared and sounded like a heroic effort, he swallowed the laudanum. "Blech! There! I hope ye're happy!" He grabbed up a hand cloth and began rubbing his tongue vigorously.
She calmly replaced the spoon and recorked the bottle. "As I was saying, MacLean swore that he liked every dish at dinner, even the turnips. They were so hard it almost broke my knife to cut one."
"Hm.That's very odd,it is. ~ Karen Hawkins

I'll bring boys home if I haven't cleaned my apartment.
I'll let them see the dishes in my sink,
the mascara rubbed into my pillowcases,
my unswept floors. Think, if we are seeing each other
undressed and blemished from the sun,
what is a dirty fork? ~ Kristina Haynes

We Irish prefer embroideries to plain cloth. To us Irish, memory is a canvas
stretched, primed, and ready for painting on. We love the "story" part of the word "history," and we love it trimmed out with color and drama, ribbons and bows. Listen to our tunes, observe a Celtic scroll: we always decorate our essence. ~ Frank Delaney

She nodded, looking down at the small wooden bird, a plain thing carved by a great man who'd always taken pleasure in creating things with his own hands. She's telling me, I think, that I should seek to be none other than myself, and so fly always like the bird that I was born to be. ~ Susanna Kearsley

I remember being shocked when I came out from under the focusing cloth after a minute or two being submerged within that, at the startling green color of those ferns. ~ John Sexton

A strong leader accepts blame and gives the credit. A weak leader gives blame and accepts the credit. ~ John Wooden

Totem poles and wooden masks no longer suggest tribal villages but fashionable drawing rooms in New York and Paris. ~ Mason Cooley

She fell down fifty-five floors. It took 10.6 seconds for her to hit the ground. It took my father forty-eight hours to come back home from his business trip in Sweden. ~ Chelsea Ballinger

I remember the stars that night. They were like salt against the sky, like someone spilled the shaker against very dark cloth. That mattered to me, their accidental beauty. ~ Kathleen Glasgow

I don't think I was a fine game coach I think I was a good practice coach. ~ John Wooden

He called back with an incredible report: there were people lined up around the store already.
Wow, I thought.
Wow!
Wow didn't begin to cover it. People lined up on two floors of the store to talk to Chris and get their books signed, hours before he was even scheduled to arrive. Chris was overwhelmed when he got there, and so was I. The week before, he'd been just another guy walking down the street. Now, all of a sudden he was famous.
Except he was still the same Chris Kyle, humble and a bit abashed, ready to shake hands and pose for a picture, and always, at heart, a good ol' boy.
"I'm so nervous," confided one of the people on the line as he approached Chris. "I've been waiting for three hours just to see you."
"Oh, I'm sorry," said Chris. "Waitin' all that time and come to find out there's just another redneck up here."
The man laughed, and so did Chris. It was something he'd repeat, in different variations, countless times that night and over the coming weeks.
We stayed for three or four hours that first night, far beyond what had been advertised, with Chris signing each book, shaking each hand, and genuinely grateful for each person who came. For their part, they were anxious not just to meet him but to thank him for his service to our country-and by extension, the service of every military member whom they couldn't personally thank. From the moment the book was published, Chris became the son, the brother, the nephew, the cousin, ~ Taya Kyle