A Quote by Anne Frank

We lit the stove a few days ago and the entire room is filled with smoke. I prefer central heating, and I'm probably not the only one. — © Anne Frank
We lit the stove a few days ago and the entire room is filled with smoke. I prefer central heating, and I'm probably not the only one.
Then she declared loudly, "Smoke break!" and everyone's eyes came to us, some of them shocked seeing as these days you could light up a doobie and no one would blink but if you lit up a smoke, you courted being publicly stoned to death.
No matter how long the room has been dark, an hour or a million years, the moment the lamp of awareness is lit the entire room becomes luminous. You are that luminosity. You are that clear light.
Women's orgasms will quadruple in intensity if she's in a beautiful, dimly lit room versus a brightly lit, uncomfortable room.
To the Technocrats: Have mercy on us. Relax a bit, take time out for simple pleasures. For example, the luxuries of electricity, indoor plumbing, central heating, instant electronic communication and such, have taught me to relearn and enjoy the basic human satisfactions of dipping water from a cold clear mountain stream; of building a wood fire in a cast-iron stove; of using long winter nights for making music, making things, making love; of writing long letters, in longhand with a fountain pen, to the few people on this earth I truly care about.
In a world of fixed future, life is an infinite corridor of rooms, one room lit at each moment, the next room dark but prepared. We walk from room to room, look into the room that is lit, the present moment, then walk on. We do not know the rooms ahead, but we know we cannot change them. We are spectators of our lives.
Women are on the outside when the door to the smoke-filled room is closed.
I lit a thin green candle to make you jealous of me, but the room just filled up with mosquitoes.
Every now and then it feels like it's just been a few days ago, a few weeks ago since we got started; but looking back through photographs and listening to the older albums and stuff, you can definitely feel some maturing and some distance in between the club days and where we are now
I can't stand light. I hate weather. My idea of heaven is moving from one smoke-filled room to another.
Party organization matters. When the door of a smoke-filled room is closed, there's hardly ever a woman inside.
How should we Democrats select the next presidential nominee? Smoke filled rooms? Brokered convention? National primary? Personally, I prefer jump shots from the top of the key.
I was in Beijing a month ago working on the smoke project in collaboration with an architect there, and I was asked very directly whether it was safe to breathe in the smoke. They did not have confidence in the museum not to use harmful smoke, and they certainly didn't have confidence that the city would protect them from harmful smoke.
A few more days, and this essay will follow the Defensio Populi to the dust and silence of the upper shelf... For a month or two it will occupy a few minutes of chat in every drawing-room, and a few columns in every magazine; and it will then be withdrawn, to make room for the forthcoming novelties.
I always liked the smell of a smoke-filled room. I think it's a good smell.
We have a group of friends of the museum who try to raise, if they can, periodically something to help us. Of course, the main thing about a building like this is its upkeep. It needs central heating and it needs central air conditioning.
Once time is lit, it will burn whether or not you're breathing it in. Even after smoke becomes air, there is the memory of smoke. I am seeing as if by the light of a match, a glimpse of my life and having it feel right.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!