Cleaners Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
i-can-make-going-to-drycleaners-last-entire-day-dry-cleaners-might-be-150-yards-from-my-front-door-you-might-find-it-hard-to-believe-but-i-am-noel-gallagher
i-think-about-death-i-dont-want-to-die-with-clothes-in-cleaners-elayne-boosler
well-you-know-writers-just-suck-up-new-experiences-were-just-like-vacuum-cleaners-newness
theres-only-one-thing-that-separates-us-from-animals-we-arent-afraid-vacuum-cleaners-jeff-stilson
i-didnt-fight-to-get-women-out-from-behind-vacuum-cleaners-to-get-them-onto-board-hoover-germaine-greer
housework-hassles-go-on-are-never-resolved-will-probably-extend-into-afterlife-why-am-i-one-who-takes-clouds-to-dry-cleaners-marni-jackson
in-that-day-we-didnt-have-no-remote-controls-vacuum-cleaners-if-you-wanted-all-that-stuff-you-had-children-tyler-perry
the-lampshade-on-my-head-is-for-my-bright-ideas-i-wont-be-able-to-convey-them-until-monday-when-my-curtain-gets-out-dry-cleaners-bauvard
a-distinguished-producer-called-kenith-trodd-actually-lived-in-his-office-for-over-year-cleaners-refused-to-go-in-because-it-was-such-tip-andrew-davies
id-rather-make-love-to-robot-than-politician-because-itd-be-more-personable-anyway-talking-vacuum-cleaners-with-flesh-suits-freak-me-out-jarod-kintz
did-you-know-babies-are-nauseated-by-smell-clean-shirt-you-put-on-something-from-cleaners-theyll-spit-up-just-like-that-my-wardrobe-looks-like-we-jeff-foxworthy
i-should-open-up-dry-cleanerspizza-parlor-extra-stain-sauce-will-be-free-but-removing-it-out-your-clothes-will-cost-you-jarod-kintz
if-you-dont-know-how-to-love-then-any-old-robot-mechanical-device-would-best-suit-your-relationship-style-in-this-situation-vacuum-cleaners-might-make-best-lovers-jarod-kintz
great-shane-said-look-id-rather-not-be-on-janitorial-duty-i-have-allergies-to-cleaners-and-to-cleaning-michael-said-look-whos-talking-didnt-do-one-those-animal-planet-documentari
some-people-think-im-saying-women-world-unite-you-have-nothing-to-lose-but-your-men-its-not-true-you-have-nothing-to-lose-but-your-vacuum-cleaners-betty-friedan
the-way-we-use-technology-is-completely-wasteful-we-duplicate-many-vacuum-cleaners-tools-in-future-we-will-make-best-equipment-make-it-available-jacque-fresco
behind-every-small-business-theres-story-worth-knowing-all-corner-shops-in-our-towns-cities-restaurants-cleaners-gyms-hair-salons-hardware-stores-paul-ryan
all-americans-knew-was-the-joy-luck-club-children-dry-cleaners-trying-to-assimilate-the-asia-that-i-was-seeing-was-world-people-who-are-incredibly-sophisticated-i-wanted-to-repre
if-lawyers-are-disbarred-clergymen-defrocked-doesnt-it-follow-that-electricians-can-be-delighted-musicians-denoted-cowboys-deranged-models-deposed-steven-wright
back-then-people-were-throwing-their-underwear-onstage-i-remember-taking-eight-pairs-my-own-underwear-to-cleaners-getting-only-four-back-dennis-quaid
i-balance-my-hormones-with-bioidentical-hormones-i-eat-organic-i-take-supplements-as-determined-by-lab-work-i-sleep-eight-hours-nightly-i-use-organic-cosmetics-green-household-cl
when-war-ended-in-1945-i-started-selling-vacuum-cleaners-door-to-door-then-i-sold-insurance-door-to-door-i-even-tried-selling-cars-clint-walker
The door handle turned. Someone knocked, and a man's voice called, "Uh, hello?" Valkyrie looked at Skulduggery, looked back at the others, looked at Skulduggery again. "Hello, " Skulduggery said, speaking loudly to be heard over the alarm. "Hi, " said the man. "The door's locked." "Is it?" "Yes." "That's funny" said Skulduggery. "Hold on a moment." He reached out, jiggled the handle a few times, then stepped back. "Yes, it's locked. You wouldn't happen to have the key, would you?" There was a delay in response from the other side. "I'm sorry, " the man called, "Who am I speaking with?" Skulduggery tilted his head. "Who am I speaking with?" "This is Oscar Nightfall." "Are you sure?" "What?" "Are you sure you are who you say you are? This is the Great Chamber, after all. It's a very important place for very important people. It is not beyond the realms of possibility that someone, and I'm not saying that this applies to you in particular, but someone could conceivably lie about who they are in order to gain access to this room. I have to be vigilant, especially now. There's a war on, you know." Oscar Nightfall sounded puzzled. Who are you?" "Me? I'm nobody. I'm a cleaner. I'm one of the cleaners. I was cleaning the thrones and the door shut behind me. Now I can't get out. Could you try and find a key?" "What's your name? Give me you name." "No. It's mine." "Tell me your name!" "My name is Oscar Nightfall." "What? No it isn't. That's my name." "Is it? Since when?" "Since I took it!" "You didn't ask me if you could take it. I was using it first." "Open this door immediately." "I don't have the key." "I'll fetch the Cleavers." "I found the key. It was in the keyhole. It's always the last place you look isn't it? I'm unlocking the door now. Here we go." Skulduggery relaxed the air pressure, opened the door, and pulled Oscar Nightfall inside. Valkyrie stuck out her foot, and Oscar stumbled over it and Vex shoved him to Ghastly and Ghastly punched him. Oscar fell down and didn't get up again. Skulduggery closed the door once more.

Derek Landy
the-door-handle-turned-someone-knocked-mans-voice-called-uh-hello-valkyrie-looked-at-skulduggery-looked-back-at-others-looked-at-skulduggery-again-hello-skulduggery-said-speaking
There was just enough room for the tonga to get through among the bullock-carts, rickshaws, cycles and pedestrians who thronged both the road and the pavement-which they shared with barbers plying their trade out of doors, fortune-tellers, flimsy tea-stalls, vegetable-stands, monkey-trainers, ear-cleaners, pickpockets, stray cattle, the odd sleepy policeman sauntering along in faded khaki, sweat-soaked men carrying impossible loads of copper, steel rods, glass or scrap paper on their backs as they yelled 'Look out! Look out!' in voices that somehow pierced though the din, shops of brassware and cloth (the owners attempting with shouts and gestures to entice uncertain shoppers in), the small carved stone entrance of the Tinny Tots (English Medium) School which opened out onto the courtyard of the reconverted haveli of a bankrupt aristocrat, and beggars-young and old, aggressive and meek, leprous, maimed or blinded-who would quietly invade Nabiganj as evening fell, attempting to avoid the police as they worked the queues in front of the cinema-halls. Crows cawed, small boys in rags rushed around on errands (one balancing six small dirty glasses of tea on a cheap tin tray as he weaved through the crowd) monkeys chattered in and bounded about a great shivering-leafed pipal tree and tried to raid unwary customers as they left the well-guarded fruit-stand, women shuffled along in anonymous burqas or bright saris, with or without their menfolk, a few students from the university lounging around a chaat-stand shouted at each other from a foot away either out of habit or in order to be heard, mangy dogs snapped and were kicked, skeletal cats mewed and were stoned, and flies settled everywhere: on heaps of foetid, rotting rubbish, on the uncovered sweets at the sweetseller's in whose huge curved pans of ghee sizzled delicioius jalebis, on the faces of the sari-clad but not the burqa-clad women, and on the horse's nostrils as he shook his blinkered head and tried to forge his way through Old Brahmpur in the direction of the Barsaat Mahal.

Vikram Seth
there-was-just-enough-room-for-tonga-to-get-through-among-bullockcarts-rickshaws-cycles-pedestrians-who-thronged-both-road-pavementwhich-they-shared-with-barbers-plying-their-tra
Despite an icy northeast wind huffing across the bay I sneak out after dark, after my mother falls asleep clutching her leather Bible, and I hike up the rutted road to the frosted meadow to stand in mist, my shoes in muck, and toss my echo against the moss-covered fieldstone corners of the burned-out church where Sunday nights in summer for years Father Thomas, that mad handsome priest, would gather us girls in the basement to dye the rose cotton linen cut-outs that the deacon's daughter, a thin beauty with short white hair and long trim nails, would stitch by hand each folded edge then steam-iron flat so full of starch, stiffening fabric petals, which we silly Sunday school girls curled with quick sharp pulls of a scissor blade, forming clusters of curved petals the younger children assembled with Krazy glue and fuzzy green wire, sometimes adding tissue paper leaves, all of us gladly laboring like factory workers rather than have to color with crayon stubs the robe of Christ again, Christ with his empty hands inviting us to dine, Christ with a shepherd's staff signaling to another flock of puffy lambs, or naked Christ with a drooping head crowned with blackened thorns, and Lord how we laughed later when we went door to door in groups, visiting the old parishioners, the sick and bittersweet, all the near dead, and we dropped our bikes on the perfect lawns of dull neighbors, agnostics we suspected, hawking our handmade linen roses for a donation, bragging how each petal was hand-cut from a pattern drawn by Father Thomas himself, that mad handsome priest, who personally told the Monsignor to go fornicate himself, saying he was a disgruntled altar boy calling home from a phone booth outside a pub in North Dublin, while I sat half-dressed, sniffing incense, giddy and drunk with sacrament wine stains on my panties, whispering my oath of unholy love while wiggling uncomfortably on the mad priest's lap, but God he was beautiful with a fine chiseled chin and perfect teeth and a smile that would melt the Madonna, and God he was kind with a slow gentle touch, never harsh or too quick, and Christ how that crafty devil could draw, imitate a rose petal in perfect outline, his sharp pencil slanted just so, the tip barely touching so that he could sketch and drink, and cough without jerking, without ruining the work, or tearing the tissue paper, thin as a membrane, which like a clean skin arrived fresh each Saturday delivered by the dry cleaners, tucked into the crisp black vestment, wrapped around shirt cardboard, pinned to protect the high collar.

Bob Thurber
despite-icy-northeast-wind-huffing-across-bay-i-sneak-out-after-dark-after-my-mother-falls-asleep-clutching-her-leather-bible-i-hike-up-rutted-road-to-frosted-meadow-to-stand-in-
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