Home > Topic > bedsheets
1 " I know I’m not the only one whose life is a conditional clausehanging from something to do with spring and one tall room and the tremble of my phone.I’m not the only one that love makes feel like a dozenflapping bedsheets being ripped to prayer flags by the wind. "
2 " They arrived home again to a most peculiar sight. The small garden at the front of the Banana House had been transformed. A tidal wave of cushions, beanbags, quilts, hearth rugs, and sleeping bags appeared to have swept up the lawn and broken at the wall. From Indigo's window a multicolored rope of knotted bedsheets came snaking out and ended among the cushions. As Micheal and Caddy watched, a mattress emerged and fell to the ground, followed by a rain of pillows." Indigo!" shouted Caddy, jumping out of the car.Indigo's and Rose's heads appeared in the window above." It's all right, Caddy!" Indigo called cheerfully. " We've been doing it all the time you've been gone." " We keep finding more stuff to land on!" added Rose. " Look! "
3 " Her eyes stung from crying for so long and having some tears dry on them. Her body was weak from the exercise but she did not feel better. While she was crying she had wanted someone, anyone to come and hold her. She had crawled into her closet, hoisted herself up onto the shelf that had duvets and bedsheets and curled herself among those. Now she knew that no hug could erase her pain, no sort of embrace could bind up her heart. She needed a new heart it seemed, her old heart was beyond repair. "
4 " He blurred his thens and his nows—in a fantastic drunken distortion—with the thisness and thenness of now and before, re-spectively; wisps of Bburke with Jane infiltrated him without her, the way dry oars still taste of salt. And it made Bburke trace Jane’s silhouette in his bedsheets with his lips, wondering if his sadness and loneliness was of any import to the grander human comedy, like the swooning soul of Joyce’s Gabriel, lost amidst a universe of snow—because, in small, unnoticeable ways, must not the sea taste of oars? "
― A.J. Smith , Growth
5 " He's looking at the wall and at the floor and at the bedsheets and at the way his knuckles look when he clenches his fist but no not at me he won't look at me and his next words are so, so soft. " Because they're dead, love. They're all dead. "
