Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Bedfellows. 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 Bedfellows Quotes And Sayings by 97 Authors including Mary Elizabeth,Ahmad Fuadi,Virginia Woolf,Diane Setterfield,Bryan Adams for you to enjoy and share.
Alone, we're us: an innocent secret made of bad habits spread across his bed.
A couple who travel together, grow together.
And if literature is not the Bride and Bedfellow of Truth, what is she? 'Confound it all.' he cried, 'why say Bedfellow when one's already said Bride? Why not simply say what one means and save it?
Ordinary people, untwins, seek their soulmate, take lovers, marry. Tormented by their incompleteness they strive to be part of a pair.
Caught in the crossfire of a silent scream, where one man's nightmare is another man's dream.
Husband and wife,
so much in common, how different in type! Such a contrast, and yet such harmony, strength and weakness blended together!
tidy bed was a restful bed
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.
room below and a bedchamber above.
Clerks in downtown hotels were said to be asking guests whether they wished the room for sleeping or jumping. Two men jumped hand-in-hand from a high window in the Ritz. They had a joint account.
This is a gathering of Lovers.
In this gathering
there is no high, no low,
no smart, no ignorant,
no special assembly,
no grand discourse,
no proper schooling required.
There is no master,
no disciple.
Couple in the next room bound to win a prize, they've been going at it all night long.
Life is a night spent in an uncomfortable inn.
Sleep, to the homeless thou art home; the friendless find in thee a friend
This ain't our marriage bed, but it'll do.
Man and wife, realist and dreamer ... n truth they were more than one flesh, they had formed and sustained each other, they had ONE STORY between them and it wasn't at all easy for me or my brother to inhabit it.
Mankind is divisible into two great classes: hosts and guests.
A boy and a girl, a man and a woman, a pervert and a slut ...
Besides what endless brawls by wives are bred,
The curtain lecture makes a mournful bed.
There are not enough poems in praise of bed ...
There is a promise made in any bed
I have a second bedroom I don't use. I'm going to start the Second Bedroom Film Festival. You're all invited.
I suppose there is hardly any one in the civilized world - particularly of those who do just a little more every day than they really have strength to perform - who has not at some time regarded bed as a refuge.
They were two people thrown together on a journey, who found themselves sharing the same railway compartment and becoming resigned to each other's company.
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.
What a magical thing is the bed, and what a vulnerable, innocent creature is the sleeping human - the human who never looks more truthful or pitiful or benign; the curled-up, childlike dreaming soul who has for a few hours become an angel adrift.
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.
We are sitting on our honeymoon bed in the honeymoon suite. We are in a state of honeymoon, in our honey month. These words are so sweet: honey, moon. This bed is so big, we could live on it. We have been happily marooned
honey marooned
on this bed for days.
The bed is a metaphysical piece of furniture.
We stood wrapped in each other's arms, taking comfort from our family below, yearning for the others we might never see again, at once at home and homeless, balanced on a knife edge of danger and uncertainty. But together.
We live in a world of our own creation. We've made our bed, ladies and gentlemen, whether we intended to or not. Now, we get the honor of lying down in it.
Mates such as they must stand by one another
Men consort in camp and town
But the poet dwells alone.
We were like two performers in a play, but we were divided, we were not acting with one another. We had to endure it alone, we had to put up this show, this miserable, sham performance for the sake of all these people I did not know and did not want to see again.
This bed yawns
beneath the weight
of our absent selves.
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.
Any who live, stand alone in one place, together.
So here we sit on the island of misfit lovers. The broken, the maimed, the malformed, who still, all sensible evidence to the contrary, believe in love, crave love.
We slept, all six of us, beneath a wooden roof that let in the stars, warming one another, our legs intermingled. I dreamed: and in my dreams saw women. But my heart, stained with bloodshed, grated and brimmed over.
Sleep with me sleep with my dogs-
Sunday night meant, in the dark, wintry, rainy Midlands ... anywhere where two creatures might stand and squeeze together and spoon ... Spooning was a fine art, whereas kissing and cuddling are calf-processes.
Who were these people, all of them young couples, a few fabulous ones, tall thin-haired blondes with toned men in perfectly pressed jeans
neither fearing the loss of the other.
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?
They were in that bed together for a long time, taking the sweetness of life in the shadow of death.
The world's an Inn; and I her guest.
And then the men lay down and put their heads in the girls' laps and looked up into their faces. And they smiled at each other, a tired and peaceful and wonderful secret.
Two human beings anchored to one another are like two ships shaken by waves; their carcases collide with one another and creak.
Fantastic. The entire house is here to watch the Battle of the Velveteen Bed.
A pair of star-crossed lovers.
Strange is this alien despotism of Sleep which takes two persons lying in each other's arms & separates them leagues, continents,asunder.
My patchwork life: quiet Sunday, coffee on Grace's breath, the unfamiliar landscape of the lumpy new scar on my arm, the dangerous smell of snow in the air. Two different worlds circling each other, getting closer and closer, knotting together in ways I'd never imagined.
Life is a caravan, and on this journey we sleep in many tents. Tomorrow I shall sleep in a different tent.
Only solitary men know the full joys of friendship. Others have their family; but to a solitary and an exile his friends are everything.
Those in their snug Bed-chambers may call the Fears of Night meer Bugbears, but their Minds have not pierced into the Horror of the World which others, who are adrift upon it, know.
Friends and neighbors,
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.
In the beds which the piety of the public has prepared on every side, stricken men await the verdict of fate.
When true hearts lie wither'd And fond ones are flown, Oh, who would inhabit This bleak world alone?
in this bedroom, away from reality, was our world, and it was filled with love and soft kisses and tender moments that brought to the forefront the purpose of our life: each other.
When husbands and wives not only co-work but try to co-homemake, as post-feminist and well-intentioned as it is, out goes the clear delineation of spheres, out goes the calm of unquestioned authority, and of course, out goes the gratitude.
The boys and girls are one tonight.
They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies.
They take off shoes. They turn off the light.
The glimmering creatures are full of lies.
They are eating each other. They are overfed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.
The Fat Mattress consisted of people I'd played with before joining the 'Experience and it was put together as a song writing situation.
Among themselves, they had figured out how to go about marriage so as to accomplish the least damage. t The husbands lived two hours away...
Four of us slept in the one bed. When it got cold, mother threw on another brother.
No matter whose bed you die in
the bed will be yours
for your voyage
onto the surgical andiron
of God.
Lovers lying two and two Ask not whom they sleep beside, And the bridegroom all night through Never turns him to the bride.
Don't you want to be neighbors?"
"No." he said. "I want to be lovers. Sleep-together lovers. Wake-up together lovers. One bed."
Oh, God, she was going to fall in love. She could feel it happening.
The bed comprehends our whole life, for we were born in it, we live in it, and we shall die in it
Brothers in Art: a friendship so complete
Neon lights, moonlight, flickering streetlamps, and shadow through the bedroom window blanket us in an ever-changing quilt. Pearl wraps her arms around my middle and lays her head on my chest. I drink from the bottle of whiskey, both uncomfortable and comforted at the same time.
Love crosses the sky on a peculiar disturbing night.
We are relatives at the village and yet we become strangers in the city
This was the cream of marriage, this nightly turning out of the day's pocketful of memories, this deft habitual sharing of two pairs of eyes, two pairs of ears. It gave you, in a sense, almost a double life: though never, on the other hand, quite a single one.
Men and women sleep not with each other but with the memories, the regrets, the hopes of unions yet to come. Our adulteries are internal; they deepen our aloneness.
Neighbours: the strangers who live next door.
The many faces of intimacy: the Victorians could experience it through correspondence, but not through cohabitation; contemporary men and women can experience it through fornication, but not through friendship.
Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.
You're a terrible man for the blankets, said Kerrigan.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I love my bed, said Byrne. She was my first friend ... She will house me in my last hour and faithfully hold my cold body when I am dead. She will look bereaved when I am gone.
Oh, my God. They were going to sleep together, with no sleeping involved.
One cannot see callers, answer the telephone, go to luncheons or dinners, visit the dentist or shoemaker, address charitable organizations in or from a bed; therefore a bed, in my experience, is simply bristling with ideas.
That family glaze of common references, jokes, events, calamities-that sense of a family being like a kitchen midden: layer upon layer of the things daily life is made of. The edifice that lovers build is by comparison delicate and one-dimensional.
None of our lives were perfect, we all had faced bumps in the road, loss, and heartache. But together we made our own mismatched kind of family.
Two women seldom grow intimate but at the expense of a third person; they make friendships as kings of old made leagues, who sacrificed some poor animal betwixt them, and commenced strict allies; so the ladies, after they have pulled some character to pieces, are from henceforth inviolable friends.
We met among tall pines, separate blood, divided by arms and hands and hearts and lungs that all held the same wounds - mine
The wold was full of us, the leftovers and the leavers, the bereaved and the broken.
Most people are participating in the grand adventure of living with one another.
Oh that I had in the wilderness a lodging-place of wayfaring men!
The last night of love, the first night of war
Who friendship with a knave hath made, Is judged a partner in the trade.
Tis all a Chequer-board of nights and days
Where Destiny with men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates,and slays,
And one by one back in the closet lays.
an unlovely gaggle of contrary old codgers".
And those who come together in the night and are entwined in rocking delight do an earnest work and gather sweetnesses, gather depth and strength for the song of some coming poet, who will arise to speak of ecstasies beyond telling.
We make a home for ourselves, every time we work on something: actors, writers, singers, building these little nests in our gypsy souls, in place of the ones we so seldom seem to make in our own lives. And then suddenly it's over, and we have to start again.
Romantic couples. Each room has its own flavor, its own feel.
Give house-room to the best; 'tis never known
Verture and pleasure both to dwell in one.
A bachelor's bed is the most pleasant.
The men, the women, the children; the old with the young, the decrepit with the lusty - all equal before sleep, death's brother.
I felt obligated by friendship as well as duty to make certain they were comfortably housed. Since men seem to measure comfort by the degree of dirt and confusion that prevails, I deduced that they were very comfortable.
Let's part
equals, as we were in every bed, pure
equals of the earth
It's folly that women measure their happiness with the pleasures of the bed, but they do. And when the pleasure cools or their man goes missing, all they once lived for turns dark and hateful.