I linger on the flathouse roof, the moonlight is divine. But my heart is all aflutter like the washing on the line.
I did my own thinking. I have never given it out to be done by others as one gives out washing.
I truly believe fishing is like a washing machine for your brain
I have observed, on board a steamer, how men and women easily give way to their instinct for flirtation, because water has the power of washing away our sense of responsibility, and those who on land resemble the oak in their firmness behave like floating seaweed when on the sea.
I love the night. I love to feel the tide of darkness rising, slowly and slowly washing, turning over and over, lifting, floating, all that lies strewn upon the dark beach, all that lies hid in rocky hollows.
At almost every step in life we meet with young men from whom we anticipate wonderful things, but of whom, after careful inquiry, we never hear another word. Life certain chintzes, calicoes, and ginghams, they show finely on their first newness, but cannot stand the sun and rain, and assume a very sober aspect after washing day.
Eating, sleeping, cleaning - the years no longer rise up toward heaven, they lie spread out ahead, gray and identical. The battle against dust and dirt is never won. Washing, ironing, sweeping, ferreting out rolls of lint from under wardrobes - all this halting of decay is also the denial of life; for time simultaneously creates and destroys, and only its negative aspect concerns the housekeeper.
One can hardly tell women that washing up saucepans is their divine mission, [so] they are told that bringing up children is their divine mission. But the way things are in the world, bringing up children has a great deal in common with washing up saucepans.
The plot is not very important to me, though a novel must have one, of course. It's just a line to hang the washing on.
For men obsessed with women's underwear, a course in washing, ironing and mending is recommended.
Anti-alcoholics are unfortunates in the grip of water, that terrible poison, so corrosive that out of all substances it has been chosen for washing and scouring, and a drop of water added to a clear liquid like Absinthe, muddles it.
Emotions weren't like washing. There was no call to peg them out for all the world to view.
See the cat at love, rolling with its sweetheart, up and over, with shriek and moan. But if a person comes by, they break away, sit separate upon a fence washing their faces - and might never have met at all.
Doctors, by God; washing their hands, looking out windows, fiddling with dreadful things while you are stretched out on a table or half undressed on a chair.
the relentless touring and endless repetition of the same songs over and over again promoted a creeping awareness that my music had begun to sound like my washing machine.
If you're at the sink washing the cup, wash the cup. Don't worry about everything else. ... We forget to appreciate the simplest moments of the day, the sublime in the ordinary.
Writing is like washing windows in the sun. With every attempt to perfect clarity, you make a new smear.
No matter how you have searched, there will always be one teaspoon left at the bottom of the washing-up water.
I liked fetching the washing from the Moscrops', and my mother liked washing for Mrs. Moscrop better than for anyone else. That was because Mrs. Moscrop wrapped a bar of yellow soap in with the washing. There wasn't anyone else who thought of a thing like that.
Consider yourself not ready to start the day, ill equipped, unprepared to mix with your fellows, until you have spent at least fifteen minutes in prayer. Count it as much a social necessity as washing.
Abuse counselors say of the abusive client: “When he looks at himself in the morning and sees his dirty face, he sets about washing the mirror.
All I see in the mirror every morning is a face that needs washing.
Don't go a full day or night without washing your face. You have to get all the dirt and makeup out of your pores.
Behold the Sea, The opaline, the plentiful and strong, Yet beautiful as is the rose in June, Fresh as the trickling rainbow of July; Sea full of food, the nourisher of kinds, Purger of earth, and medicine of men; Creating a sweet climate by my breath, Washing out harms and griefs from memory, And, in my mathematic ebb and flow, Giving a hint of that which changes not.
The stream of Time, which is continually washing the dissoluble fabrics of other poets, passes without injury by the adamant of Shakespeare.
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