Interior Decorating Quotes And Sayings 2020

Interior Decorating Quotes And Sayings 2020

Interior Decorating Quotes And Sayings 2020. Here are the smartest things ever said about home decor

Interior Decorating Quotes And Sayings 2020

 

1=
“Why must it be so hard
For us to come to understand,
That there are things we cannot change
Hidden amongst the things we can?
For we can rearrange our hearts,
Dust out the corners of our minds,
We can teach our eyes to see
Only the things we wish to find.
Yet once we decorate our walls
And sweep our sorrows off the floor,
Why do we look to someone else,
To show us how we can be more?
For here is where the line
Between our can and can’t gets tough,
Just the point at which we all must learn
That we are already enough,
That since we cannot choose the home,
Our only soul was born into,
We should rearrange its rooms
But learn to love its window’s view.”
— Erin Hanson

 

2=
“Homes should mean something to us, humans. They are a basic instinct. A home, with a life that centers only on food and sleep, is not really a home, it’s a house. Beauty and graciousness, the joy of living, being used in every part, these are the things that make a house a home. (chapter header quote from Popular Home Decorations, 1940)”
— Ellen Baker

 

3=
“Apart from the peace and emptiness of the landscape, there is a special smell about winter in Provence which is accentuated by the wind and the clean, dry air. Walking in the hills, I was often able to smell a house before I could see it, because of the scent of woodsmoke coming from an invisible chimney. It is one of the most primitive smells in life, and consequently extinct in most cities, where fire regulations and interior decorators have combined to turn fireplaces into blocked-up holes or self-consciously lit “architectural features.” The fireplace in Provence is still used – to cook on, to sit around, to warm the toes, and to please the eye – and fires are laid in the early morning and fed throughout the day with scrub oak from the Luberon or beech from the foothills of Mont Ventoux. Coming home with the dogs as dusk fell, I always stopped to look from the top of the valley at the long zigzag of smoke ribbons drifting up from the farms that are scattered along the Bonnieux road. It was a sight that made me think of warm kitchens and well-seasoned stews, and it never failed to make me ravenous.”
— Peter Mayle

 

4=
“An ugly candle that lights up a home is better than a beautiful lamp that merely decorates a room.”
— Matshona Dhliwayo

 

5=
“SELF-HELP FOR FELLOW REFUGEES

If your name suggests a country where bells
might have been used for entertainment,

or to announce the entrances and exits of the seasons
and the birthdays of gods and demons,

it’s probably best to dress in plain clothes
when you arrive in the United States.
And try not to talk too loud.

If you happen to have watched armed men
beat and drag your father
out the front door of your house
and into the back of an idling truck,

before your mother jerked you from the threshold
and buried your face in her skirt folds,
try not to judge your mother too harshly.

Don’t ask her what she thought she was doing,
turning a child’s eyes
away from history
and toward that place all human aching starts.

And if you meet someone
in your adopted country
and think you see in the other’s face
an open sky, some promise of a new beginning,
it probably means you’re standing too far.

Or if you think you read in the other, as in a book
whose first and last pages are missing,
the story of your own birthplace,
a country twice erased,
once by fire, once by forgetfulness,
it probably means you’re standing too close.

In any case, try not to let another carry
the burden of your own nostalgia or hope.

And if you’re one of those
the whose left side of the face doesn’t match
the right, it might be a clue

looking the other way was a habit
your predecessors found useful for survival.
Don’t lament not being beautiful.

Get used to seeing while not seeing.
Get busy remembering while forgetting.
Dying to live while not wanting to go on.

Very likely, your ancestors decorated
their bells of every shape and size
with elaborate calendars
and diagrams of distant star systems,
but with no maps for scattered descendants.

And I bet you can’t say what language
your father spoke when he shouted to your mother
from the back of the truck, “Let the boy see!”

Maybe it wasn’t the language you used at home.
Maybe it was a forbidden language.
Or maybe there was too much screaming
and weeping and the noise of guns in the streets.

It doesn’t matter. What matters is this:
The kingdom of heaven is good.
But heaven on earth is better.

Thinking is good.
But living is better.

Alone in your favorite chair
with a book you enjoy
is fine. But spooning
is even better.”
— Li-Young Lee

 

6=
“We might laugh at the notion of plastic tea sets in the jungle, but it is a time-honored ritual for Western travelers to collect preindustrial artifacts to use as home decorations…Possession of primitive artifacts suggests worldly knowledge, just as in the highland communities of Borneo an electronic wristwatch that plays “Happy Birthday” is the mark of a great traveler. Funny thing how travel can narrow the mind.”
— Eric Hansen

 

7=
“Everything has sensuality, but not everyone can see it. It takes only those who have developed their ability to look at life through the eyes of an artist, which are essentially the deep eyes of passion and appreciation for the sensual world, to perceive it.”
— Lebo Grand

 

8=
“So…like, you’re lyin’ on the battlefield with an arrow for a decoration, and everybody homes in on it like a beacon and they start pryin’ it out WHILE you’re conscious, and you’re thinkin’ “Ahh! Don’t trouble yourselves, just leave it in there for goodness’ sake! I got it first, it’s mine! Don’t touch it! I can use it to hang stuff on and–aahh!” And then when you finally faint from all the pain, they shake you and shout your name and try to wake you up, and you’re thinkin’ “Heeeeeeell no, I ain’t comin’ back to that! Why d’you think I fainted in the first place?!” Then they get all frantic-like and such and start hollerin’ “Don’t die on me, man!” and you’re thinkin’ “The only one gonna die here is you if you don’t quit shaking me!”
— Jason

 

9=
“Decorate your holiday home with people that sparkle, not things that shine.”
— Toni Sorenson

 

10=
“You cannot rest on your laurels as a sensual woman. Remember, your life is like that of an influencer. Meaning your yesterday’s ‘wow’ quickly becomes your today’s ‘ordinary.’ Your value comes from your creations.

So as a sensual woman, what are you creating every day in terms of your dressing style, your home decorating style, your meal preparation style, your romance style, your sexting, flirting or seducing style, even your style when it comes to connecting or making love to your intimate lover?

Are you living at the edge of your sensual capabilities? A sensual lifestyle is essentially a value creation lifestyle. It’s not for those who are lazy, complacent, unimaginative, prudish, or frigid.”
— Lebo Grand

 

11=
“Quote from “The Dish Keepers of Honest House” ….TO TWIST THE COLD is easy when its only water you want. Tapping of the toothbrush echoes into Ella’s mind like footsteps clacking a cobbled street on a bitter, dry, cold morning. Her mind pushes through sleep her body craves. It catches her head falling into a warm, soft pillow.
“Go back to bed,” she tells herself.
“You’re still asleep,” Ella mumbles, pushes the blanket off, and sits up.
The urgency to move persuades her to keep routines. Water from the faucet runs through paste foam like a miniature waterfall. Ella rubs sleep-deprieved eyes, then the bridge of her nose and glances into the sink.
Ella’s eyes astutely fixate for one, brief millisecond. Water becomes the burgundy of soldiers exiting the drain. Her mouth drops in shock. The flow turns green. It is like the bubbling fungus of flockless, fishless, stagnating ponds.
Within the iridescent glimmer of her thinking — like a brain losing blood flow, Ella’s focus is the flickering flashing of gray, white dust, coal-black shadows and crows lifting from the ground. A half minute or two trails off before her mind returns to reality.
Ella grasps a toothbrush between thumb and index finger. She rests the outer palm against the sink’s edge, breathes in and then exhales. Tension in the brow subsides, and her chest and shoulders drop; she sighs. Ella stares at pasty foam. It exits the drain as if in a race to clear the sink of negativity — of all germs, slimy spit, the burgundy of imagined soldiers and oppressive plaque.
GRASPING THE SILKY STRAND between her fingers, Ella tucks, pulls and slides the floss gently through her teeth. Her breath is an inch or so of the mirror. Inspections leave her demeanor more alert. Clouding steam of the image tugs her conscience. She gazes into silver glass. Bits of hair loosen from the bun piled at her head’s posterior.
What transforms is what she imagines. The mirror becomes a window. The window possesses her Soul and Spirit. These two become concerned — much like they did when dishonest housekeepers disrupted Ella’s world in another story.
Before her is a glorious bird — shining-dark-as-coal, shimmering in hues of purple-black and black-greens. It is likened unto The Raven in Edgar Allan Poe’s most famous poem of 1845.
Instead of interrupting a cold December night with tapping on a chamber door, it rests its claws in the decorative, carved handle of a backrest on a stiff dining chair. It projects an air of humor and concern. It moves its head to and fro while seeking a clearer understanding.
Ella studies the bird. It is surrounded in lofty bends and stretches of leafless, acorn-less, nearly lifeless, oak trees. Like fingers and arms these branches reach below.
[Perhaps they are reaching for us? Rest assured; if they had designs on us, I would be someplace else, writing about something more pleasant and less frightening. Of course, you would be asleep.]
Balanced in the branches is a chair. It is from Ella’s childhood home. The chair sways. Ella imagines modern-day pilgrims of a distant shore. Each step is as if Mother Nature will position them upright like dolls, blown from the stability of their plastic, flat, toe-less feet. These pilgrims take fate by the hand.
LIFTING A TOWEL and patting her mouth and hands, Ella pulls the towel through the rack. She walks to the bedroom, sits and picks up the newspaper. Thumbing through pages that leave fingertips black, she reads headlines:
“Former Dentist Guilty of Health Care Fraud.”
She flips the page, pinches the tip of her nose and brushes the edge of her chin — smearing both with ink. In the middle fold directly affront her eyes is another headline:
“Dentist Punished for Misconduct.”
She turns the page. There is yet another:
“Dentist guilty of urinating in surgery sink and using contaminated dental instruments on patients.”
This world contains those who are simply insane! Every profession has those who stray from goals….”
— Helene Andorre Hinson Staley

 

12=
“The Addams dwelling at 25 West Fifty-fourth Street was directly behind the Museum of Modern Art, at the top of the building. It was reached by an ancient elevator, which rumbled up to the twelfth floor. From there, one climbed through a red-painted stairwell where a real mounted crossbow hovered. The Addams door was marked by a “big black number 13,” and a knocker in the shape of a vampire.

…Inside, one entered a little kingdom that fulfilled every fantasy one might have entertained about its inhabitant. On a pedestal in the corner of the bookcase stood a rare “Maximilian” suit of armor, which Addams had bought at a good price (“a bargain at $700”)… It was joined by a half-suit, a North Italian Morion of “Spanish” form, circa 1570-80, and a collection of warrior helmets, perched on long stalks like decapitated heads… There were enough arms and armaments to defend the Addams fortress against the most persistent invader: wheel-lock guns; an Italian prod; two maces; three swords. Above a sofa bed, a spectacular array of medieval crossbows rose like birds in flight. “Don’t worry, they’ve only fallen down once,” Addams once told an overnight guest. …

Everywhere one looked in the apartment, something caught the eye. A rare papier-mache and polychrome anatomical study figure, nineteenth century, with removable organs and body parts captioned in French, protected by a glass bell. (“It’s not exactly another human heart beating in the house, but it’s close enough.” said Addams.) A set of engraved aquatint plates from an antique book on armor. A lamp in the shape of a miniature suit of armor, topped by a black shade. There were various snakes; biopsy scissors (“It reaches inside, and nips a little piece of flesh,” explained Addams); and a shiny human thighbone – a Christmas present from one wife. There was a sewing basket fashioned from an armadillo, a gift from another.

In front of the couch stood a most unusual coffee table – “a drying out table,” the man at the wonderfully named antiques shop, the Gettysburg Sutler, had called it. (“What was dried on it?” a reporter had asked. “Bodies,” said Addams.)…”
— Linda H. Davis

Red Lipstick: Marilyn Monroes Powerful Quotes

13=

“The stormy black sky had faded to dark gray, and in the distance white, billowing clouds blew across the prairie. They began racing one another, tossed by the wind, and the sun shining on them made them appear a brilliant white against the evening sky.
Memories crowded about her:a French trader with laughing eyes; a long ride into Fort Kearney; and somewhere, far back,a little mound of stones receding into the wide plain as a wagon rumbled away.Then he came, a Lakota brave, one with his snow white pony. They bounded together across the sky,and with each leap Jesse’s heart fluttered.She stood on the prairie,her long red braides decorated with feathers, the part dusted with ochre. She raised a trembling hand in greeting, but he was gone.
Her hand fell back against the quilt, and Jesse saw the clouds again and realized it had only been a memory. She was an old woman,too tired to help with the supper,perhaps even too tired to be of use to Lisbeth.
The clouds outside came closer,and the old heart fluttered at the memory of a man who rode on the wind long ago.Now it seemed that the rode again across the sky,into the room.He raised one hand in greeting.
“I will ask the Father,” he had said, “and I will come for you.”
Jesse sat up in bed,her face alive with a new light.Rides the Wind smiled and reached out to sweep her up behind him.
And the Father said, “Come home.

The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places;
yes,I have a goodly heritage.
Psalm 16:6”
— Stephanie Grace Whitson

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