Drawer Quotes (displaying: 1 - 30 of 97 quotes )
Portability also explains why many old chests and trunks had domed lids- to throw off water during travel. The great drawback of trunks, of course, is that everything has to be lifted at to get things at the bottom. It took a remarkably long time- till the 1600s- before it occurred to anyone to put drawers in and thus convert trunks into chests of drawers.
SEPTIMUS: My lady, I was alone with my thoughts in the gazebo, when Mrs Chater ran me to ground, and I being in such a passion, in an agony of unrelieved desire -- LADY CROOM: Oh....! SEPTIMUS: -- I thought in my madness that the Chater with her skirts over her head would give me the momentary illusion of the happiness to which I dared not put a face. (Pause.) LADY CROOM: I do not know when I have received a more unusual compliment, Mr Hodge. I hope I am more than a match for Mrs Chater with her head in a bucket. Does she wear drawers? SEPTIMUS: She does. LADY CROOM: Yes, I have heard that drawers are being worn now. It is unnatural for women to be got up like jockeys. I cannot approve.
I think memory is the most important asset of human beings. It’s a kind of fuel; it burns and it warms you. My memory is like a chest: There are so many drawers in that chest, and when I want to be a fifteen-year-old boy, I open up a certain drawer and I find the scenery I saw when I was a boy in Kobe. I can smell the air, and I can touch the ground, and I can see the green of the trees. That’s why I want to write a book.
By revealing to Tomas her dream about jabbing needles under her fingernails, Tereza unwittingly revealed that she had gone through his desk. If Tereza had been any other woman, Tomas would never have spoken to her again. Aware of that, Tereza said to him, Throw me out! But instead of throwing her out, he seized her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers, because at that moment he himself felt the pain under her fingernails as surely as if the nerves of her fingers led straight to his own brain. Anyone who has failed to benefit from the Devil’s gift of compassion (co-feeling) will condemn Tereza coldly for her deed, because privacy is sacred and drawers containing intimate correspondence are not to be opened. But because compassion was Tomas’s fate (or curse), he felt that he himself had knelt before the open desk drawer, unable to tear his eyes from Sabina’s letter. He understood Tereza, and not only was he incapable of being angry with her, he loved her all the more.
You might hide in some Freudian jungle most of your miserable life, baying at the moon and shouting curses at God, but at the end, right down there at the damned end when it counts... you would sure as anything clear up just enough to realize the moon you have spent so many years baying at is nothing but the light globe up there on the ceiling, and God is just something placed in your bureau drawer by the Gideon Society. Yes, I sighed again, in the long run insanity would be the same old coldhearted drag of too solid flesh, too many slings and arrows, and too much outrageous fortune.
in the relentless and meaningless manner one searches for something in a nightmare, coming on doors that wo?t open or drawers that wo?t shut, struggling over and over against the same meaningless thing, not knowing why the effort seems so desperate, why the sudden sight of a chair with a shawl thrown over it inspires the mind with horror.
My family suffered. My hair turned up in every corner, every drawer, every meal. Even in the rice puddings Tessie made, covering each little bowl with wax paper before putting it away in the fridge--even into these prophylactically secure desserts my hair found its way! Jet black hairs wound themselves around bars of soap. They lay pressed like flower stems between the pages of books. They turned up in eyeglass cases, birthday cards, once--I swear--inside an egg Tessie had just cracked. The next-door neighbor's cat coughed up a hairball one day and the hair was not the cat's.
She knew her duty inside and out. The prosperity of the cash drawer brought happiness to husband and wife. Not that Madame Puta was bad looking, not at all, she could even, like so many others, have been rather pretty, but she was so careful, so distrustful that she stopped short of beauty just as she stopped short of life—her hair was a little too well dressed, her smile a little too facile and sudden, and her gestures a bit too abrupt or too furtive. You racked your brains trying to figure out what was too calculated about her and why you always felt uneasy when she came near you. This instinctive revulsion that shopkeepers inspire in anyone who goes near them who knows what's what, is one of the few consolations for being as down at heel as people who don't sell anything to anybody tend to be.
Still, there's no harm in putting a full stop to one's disagreeable thoughts by looking at a mark on the wall... Here is something definite, something real. thus, waking from a midnight dream of horror, one hastily turns on the light and lies quiescent, worshipping the chest of drawers, worshipping solidity, worshipping reality, worshipping the impersonal world which is proof of some existence other than ours.
But I didn't frame it; I put into an envelope and sealed it and stuffed it far back into a corner drawer of a filing cabinet. It's there, just in case one of these days I start to lose her. There might be a morning when I wake up and her face isn't the first thing I see. Or a lazy August afternoon when I can't quite recall anymore where the freckles were on her right shoulders. Maybe one of these days, I will not be able to listen to the sound of snow falling and hear her footsteps.
Now, I've another errand for you,' said my untiring master; "you mustaway to my room again. What a mercy you are shod with velvet, Jane!--aclod-hopping messenger would never do at this juncture. You must openthe middle drawer of my toilet-table and take out a little phial and alittle glass you will find there,--quick!"I flew thither and back, bringing the desired vessels.That's well! Now, doctor, I shall take the liberty of administering adose myself, on my own responsibility. I got this cordial at Rome, of anItalian charlatan--a fellow you would have kicked, Carter. It is not athing to be used indiscriminately, but it is good upon occasion: as now,for instance. Jane, a little water."He held out the tiny glass, and I half filled it from the water-bottle onthe washstand.That will do;--now wet the lip of the phial."I did so; he measured twelve drops of a crimson liquid, and presented itto Mason.Drink, Richard: it will give you the heart you lack, for an hour or so."But will it hurt me?--is it inflammatory?"Drink! drink! drink!"Mr. Mason obeyed, because it was evidently useless to resist. He wasdressed now: he still looked pale, but he was no longer gory and sullied.Mr. Rochester let him sit three minutes after he had swallowed theliquid; he then took his arm--Now I am sure you can get on your feet," he said--"try."The patient rose.Carter, take him under the other shoulder. Be of good cheer, Richard;step out--that's it!"I do feel better," remarked Mr. Mason.I am sure you do.
When it was time to play Boo's big scene, Jem would sneak into the house, steal the scissors from the sewingmachine drawer when Calpurnia's back was turned, then sit in the swing and cut up newspapers. Dill would walk by, cough at Jem, and Jem would fake a plunge into Dill's thigh. From where I stood it looked real.
Topher Brink: I'm working! What are you doing? Besides being... Adelle DeWitt: Being what? Topher Brink: Wait a minute... Adelle DeWitt: Sarcastic? Unfeeling? British? Topher Brink: It's an animal. Adelle DeWitt: Where? Topher Brink: No, the word! Adelle DeWitt: Still you have to admit, I am... very British. I don't say hard R's. Topher Brink: You know what I like? Brown sauce. What's it made of? Science doesn't know! Adelle DeWitt: It's made of brown. Topher Brink: Brown. Mined from the earth by the hardscrabble brown miners of North Brownderton. Adelle DeWitt: Oh, my God. I find lentils completely incomprehensible. What the sun-dappled hell is Echo doing at Fremont? Topher Brink: That's got nothing to do with the drug, which means our problems are huge and indomitable. Adelle DeWitt: Ooh. I could eat that word. Or a crisp. Do you have any crisps? Topher Brink: You haven't seen my drawer of inappropriate starches? C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon! Adelle DeWitt: Oh my god, I'm having such a terrible day.
In the ordinary jumble of my literary drawer, I sometimes find texts I wrote ten, fifteen, or even more years ago. And many of the seem to me written by a stranger: I simply do not recognize myself in them. There was a person who wrote them, and it was I. I experienced them, but it was in another life, from which I just woke up, as if from someone else's dream.
So with the lamps all put out, the moon sunk, and a thin rain drumming on the roof, a downpouring of immense darkness began. Nothing, it seemed, could survive the flood, the profusion of darkness which creeping in at keyholes and crevices, stole round window blinds, came into bedrooms, swallowed up here a jug and basin, there a bowl of red and yellow dahlias, there the sharp edges and firm bulk of a chest of drawers. Not only was furniture confounded; there was scarcely anything left of body or mind by which one could say, 'This is he,' or, 'This is she.
But hidden drawers, lockable diaries and cryptographic systems could not conceal from Briony the simple truth: she had no secrets. Her wish for a harmonious, organised world denied her the reckless possibilities of wrongdoing. Mayhem and destruction were too chaotic for her tastes, and she did not have it in her to be cruel. Her effective status as an only child, as well as the relative isolation of the Tallis house, kept her, at least during the long summer holidays, from girlish intrigues with friends. Nothing in her life was sufficiently interesting or shameful to merit hiding; no one knew about the squirrel's skull beneath her bed, but no one wanted to know.