#furniture

As it has been told to me, my Dad had some kind of deal with Dick Clark. But when we got here, that fell through. So we were out here with no job, no furniture, no food. ↗

— Danny Bonaduce

#clark #dad #deal #fell #food

Skulduggery stood among the ruins of what had once been a sofa. Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. 'I was trying to make up the sofa bed so you could get some rest,' he explained, and pointed to the second sofa across the room. 'Unfortunately, it would appear that that is the sofa bed, and this, apparently, is just a sofa. ↗

— Derek Landy

#furniture #humor #humorous #mistakes #death

I like everything to be dependable, heavy, English furniture. ↗

— Mikhail Khodorkovsky

#english #everything #furniture #heavy #i

I like to have Chinese furniture in my home as a constant and painful reminder of how much has been destroyed in China. The contrast between the beauty of the past and the ugliness of the modern is nowhere sharper than in China. ↗

— Jung Chang

#been #between #china #chinese #constant

My dressing table was willed to me, with some of my furniture. ↗

— Alicia Markova

#furniture #me #some #table #willed

In the internal decoration, if not in the external architecture of their residences, the English are supreme. The Italians have but little sentiment beyond marbles and colors. In France, meliora probant, deteriora sequuntur -- the people are too much a race of gadabouts to maintain those household proprieties of which, indeed, they have a delicate appreciation, or at least the elements of a proper sense. The Chinese and most of the Eastern races have a warm but inappropriate fancy. The Scotch are poor decorists. The Dutch have, perhaps, an indeterminate idea that a curtain is not a cabbage. In Spain, they are all curtains -- a nation of hangmen. The Russians do not furnish. The Hottentots and Kickapoos are very well in their way. The Yankees alone are preposterous. ↗

— Edgar Allan Poe

#philosophy-of-furniture #architecture

A woman only drools on a man when she can't swallow his pride. It would be sacrificing her integrity to drool on the furniture. ↗

— Bauvard

#funny #furniture #humor #integrity #men-and-women

No violence, gentlemen — no violence, I beg of you! Consider the furniture! ↗

— Arthur Conan Doyle

#fight #furniture #humor #violence #humor

Love isn’t stackable and interlocking, like boxes or Legos. Love is like a one-legged man standing on a three-legged chair that is placed on top of a two-legged piano. I should know, because I’m the guy trying to tune that piano, fix that chair, and affix a prosthetic leg to that guy—who happens to be my piano teacher. Mr. Balloonky, you get down from there now!
 ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#fix #furniture #interlocking #lego #legos

Again I waited - oh, but for a brief interval: I presently distinguished an extraordinary shuffling and stamping of feet on the staircase, on the floors, on the carpets; a sound not only of boots and' human shoes, but tapping of crutches, of crutches of wood, and knocking of iron crutches which clanged like cymbals. And behold, I perceived, all at once, on the door sill, an armchair, my large reading chair, which came waddling out. Right into the garden it went, followed by others, the chairs of my drawing room, then the comfortable settee, crawling like crocodiles on their short legs; next, all my chairs bounding like goats,and the small footstools which followed like rabbits. Oh, what a hideous surprise! I stepped back behind the shrubs, where I stayed, crouched and watching this procession of my furniture; for out they all came, one behind the other, quickly or slowly according to their form and weight. My piano - my large grand piano - passed at a canter like a horse, with a faint murmur of music from within; the smallest objects crawled on the gravel like ants - brushes, glasses and cups glistening in the rays of the moon with phosphorescence like glowworms. The curtains, tablecloths and, draperies wriggled along, with their feelers in the puddles like the cuttle-fish in the sea. Suddenly I beheld my pet bureau, a rare specimen of the last century, and which contained all my correspondence, all my love letters, the whole history of my heart, an old history of how much I have suffered! And within, besides, were, above all, certain photographs! ("Who Knows?") ↗

— Guy de Maupassant

#love