Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Bedfellow. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Bedfellow Quotes And Sayings by 91 Authors including Vince Flynn,Sarah Burleton,Albert Camus,Ben Howard,Margo Lanagan for you to enjoy and share.
It's what every writer needs: a daybed.
the spare bedroom?
You see, I've heard of a man whose friend had been imprisoned and who slept on the floor of his room every night in order not to enjoy a comfort of which his friend had been deprived.
I took the sing from your song. I made a bed where you don't belong.
Home is home, no? - whatever layabouts you live with, whatever tempers and timidities. I was glad to glimpse them, and glad to go to my own bed among them, with the right smell and the right hollows holding me ...
This place felt like home; not her home perhaps, but someone's home, accustomed to shelter and keep and befriend its master.
Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow. When I'm not there, you can sleep with my wife.
The Heaven is my throne and the earth my footstool. Where is the House that you may build for Me?
Couches and tables and beds don't make a home. Home is where you feel less alone.
He who sits still in a house all the time may be the greatest vagrant of all; but the saunterer, in the good sense, is no more vagrant than the meandering river, which is all the while sedulously seeking the shortest course to the sea.
I assure you that I sleep anywhere, and always like a dormouse.
With a bed, you can sleep in it in a safe shelter which means that if you die, you will re-spawn in your bed and your items won't disappear.
Mistress: Something between a mister and a mattress.
When we lay awake after making love I could hear the sleepy birds settling in their nests in the thatch. We had a little pallet bed, a table and two stools, a fireplace where we warmed up our dinner from the palace, and nothing more. We wanted nothing more.
One's homesickness for Heaven finds at least an inn there; and it's an inn on the right road.
She was made for untidy rooms and rumpled beds.
But I will be,
A bridegroom in my death, and run into't
As to a lover's bed.
You're sleeping in my bed."
"Which is more unsanitary than the couch, I'm sure."
"There's never been anyone in my bed but me.
A writer is in danger of allowing his talent to dull who lets more than a year go past without finding himself in his rightful place of composition, the small single unluxurious retreat of the twentieth century, the hotel bedroom.
Home is, in the end, not just the place where you sleep, but the place where you stand.
i am not a hotel room. i am home
i am not the whiskey you want
i am the water you need
don't come here with expectations
and try to make a vacation out of me
He that makes his bed ill, lies there.
Give house-room to the best; 'tis never known
Verture and pleasure both to dwell in one.
O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
the bed, narrow apple-green draperies at
Home is my Bethlehem,
my succoring shelter,
my mental hospital,
my wife, my dam,
my husband, my sir,
my womb, my skull.
I own a bed."
"We'll use the bed next time.
I entered my small loft with its chronic undertow of loneliness
Think what devils chase a man who cannot sleep in his own house.
Farewell, sweet playfellow.
The high-ceilinged rooms, the little balconies, alcoves, nooks and angles all suggest sanctuary, escape, creature comfort. The reader, the scholar, the browser, the borrower is king.
Tent for a day and a night. The tent shook and heaved, and voices
At length his lonely cot appears in view,
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;
Th' expectant wee-things, toddling, stacher thro'
To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise an' glee.
Ah! happy is the man whose early lot Hath made him master of a furnish'd cot; Who trains the vine that round his window grows, And after setting sun his garden hoes; Whose wattled pails his own enclosure shield, Who toils not daily in another's field.
Holy mackerel, mother of baby fishes, is that a bed?
Comfort comes into your house first as guest, then as a host, then finally as the master.
The bed in which we spend a third of our lives functions as a kind of protective haven for the true self, the subconscious refuge from the assault of the external world. The bed becomes the restorative womb, where the imagination is nurtured while our resting bodies are safe.
I am a house gutted by fire where only the guilty sometimes sleep before the punishment that devours them hounds them out in the open.
An old friend is a new house.
Now, sprawled comfortably in his motel bed, Anson Sharp enjoyed the sleep of the amoral, which is far deeper and more restful than the sleep of the just, the righteous, and the innocent.
The world is a palace without bedsheets
The thought crossed her mind that a bed was really a very strange thing-a human nest, really, where our human fragility made its nightly demands for comfort and cosseting
Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
I can take hardship. I can sleep on the cold floor anytime. I can also sleep on a feather bed.
Home is a place not only of strong affections, but of entire unreserve; it is life's undress rehearsal, its backroom, its dressing room.
This ain't our marriage bed, but it'll do.
Home, home - a few small rooms, stiflingly over-inhabited by a man, by a periodically teeming woman, by rabble of boys and girls of all ages. No air, no space; an understerilized prison; darkness, disease and smells.
Nothing exists in this world but me and my bed ... (p. 141).
In the bed of suspicion, no cushion can make a man to sleep
A lonely man is a lonesome thing, a stone, a bone, a stick, a receptacle for Gilbey's gin, a stooped figure sitting at the edge of a hotel bed, heaving copious sighs like the autumn wind.
This man dresses like an unmade bed.
Do you expect to suffer long nights of languishing and days of pain? O be not sad! That bed may become a throne to you. You little know how every pang that shoots through your body may be a refining fire to consume your dross
a beam of glory to light up the secret parts of your soul.
Home was homeless. It could exist anywhere, because its only substance was familiarity.
I shall lie folded like a saint,
Lapped in a scented linen sheet,
On a bedstead striped with bright-blue paint,
Narrow and cold and neat.
I live in the garden; I just sleep in the house.
Your love in a cottage is hungry,
Your vine is a nest for flies-
Your milkmaid shocks the Graces,
And simplicity talks of pies!
You lie down to your shady slumber
And wake with a bug in your ear,
And your damsel that walks in the morning
Is shod like a mountaineer.
A little while after we'd moved into the depot, we heard Mom and Dad talking about buying us kids real beds, and we said they shouldn't do it. We liked our boxes. They made going to bed seem like an adventure.
pg. 52
A guest of one's time and not a member of the household.
Stanley took a shower - if you could call it that, ate dinner - if you could call it that, and went to bed - if you could call his smelly and scratchy cot a bed.
Heed not the night;
A summer lodge amid the wild is mine,
'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree,
'Tis mantled by the vine.
I would not a bit mind sleeping in the cool grass in summer, and when winter came on sheltering myself by the warm close-thatched rick, or under the penthouse of a great barn, provided I had love in my heart.
Come Sleep! Oh Sleep, the certain knot of peace, the baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, the poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, the indifferent judge between the high and low.
The night garden felt like a home, with the glittering sky for the ceiling, the bushes our rug, and the dilapidated pavilion our bed. He lit up the place like a heart-warming hearth fire. He was the walls of my sanctuary, the food for my eyes, the scent of a home. He was everything.
Bed is the perfect climate.
A whim, a passing mood, readily induces the novelist to move hearth and home elsewhere. He can always plead work as an excuse to get him out of the clutches of bothersome hosts.
The true vagrant is the only king above all comparison.
Some people are better imagined in one's bed than found there in the morning.
Dormer by name, Dormer by nature: I love to sleep.
Oh Gertrud,' I cried, intolerably stirred by the bare mention of that
bed, 'this is a bleak and mischievous world, isn't it? Do you think we
shall ever be warm and comfortable and happy again?
As I'm sure you know, to be in one's own room, in one's own bed, can often make a bleak situation a little better.
I don't need anything to live, to be honest. Give me a mattress or a futon on the floor and I'll be the happiest camper.
Even
The bed of love, that in the imagination
Had seemed to be the giver of all peace,
Is no more than a wine-cup in the tasting,
And as soon finished.
In their rooms, some guests read or made love, but most of them slept, blissfully unaware of the fact that their innkeepers were losing their minds.
cozy+smell of pancakes-alarm clock=weekend
Did you know I was born in a Holiday Inn.
Give me a bed and a book and I am happy.
A plumped feather bed may have looked divine, but occupants quickly found themselves sinking into a hard, airless fissure between billowy hills. Support was on a lattice of ropes, which could be tightened with a key when they began to sag (hence the expression "sleep tight").
I'm staying here tonight. I can bunk on the floor. (Nathan)
What if I say no? (Terri)
I'll just break in after you go to sleep and still bunk on the floor. (Nathan)
Happy is the house that shelters a friend.
What ... what about when I'm married?"
"We'll buy a cot. Your husband can sleep on that when he visits.
Brave lodgings for one, brave lodgings for one,
A few feet of cold earth, when life is done;
A stone at the head, a stone at the feet,
A rich, juicy meal for the worms to eat;
Rank grass over head, and damp clay around,
Brave lodgings for one, these, in holy ground!
Whoever has no house now, will never have one.
Whoever is alone will stay alone,
will sit, read, write long letters through the evening,
and wander on the boulevards, up and down,
restlessly, while dry leaves are blowing.
I don't ever want to leave this bed, my lady Taryn. (Sparhawk)
Me either. But if we don't, it could get ugly after a few days. We'd shrivel up from lack of water. (Taryn)
I'm a gypsy at heart," Qwilleran said. "Home is where I hang my toothbrush and where the cats have their commode. See you tonight.
I'm a bed monster.
From that day on, his bedchamber becomes ours.
The sleep which lay heavy upon the furniture, the room, the whole surroundings of which I formed but an insignificant pat and whose unconsciousness I should very soon return to share.
For mankind you've made your wintry bed.
A shipwreck of your own mortality
I have no protection at home, or resting place abroad ... I am an outcast from the society of my childhood, and an outlaw in the land of my birth. I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner as all my fathers were.
He had lived alone most of his life. He was used to places that were empty. He knew the real shelter of a home was inside yourself.
can rent a bed. It's either
I had my own bed. I slept in it alone, except for those times when we needed - not sex - but sex was how we got there.
Sometimes a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs. Here is the home he sought, and he will settle amid scenes that he has never seen before, among men he has never known, as though they were familiar to him from his birth. Here at last he finds rest.
Home was quite a place when people stayed there.
This life at best is but an inn, And we the passengers.
Never sleep in a small tent with your nemesis.
I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.
AMPLE make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair. Be its mattress straight, Be its pillow round; Let no sunrise' yellow noise Interrupt this ground.
Though I suppose you've changed your mind, now that there's a woman sleeping in your bed - " "Nonsense. My bed - " "You own all the beds in this house except mine, don't you? Certainly it's your bed.
No other man will ever reside here. It's reserved for you alone